Coexistence
by darkcyan
Summary: AU During his fourth year, Harry begins to feel that something is Not Right. He studies incessantly and when Voldemort is resurrected, he knows of a spell that can get rid of the monster forever . . . unfortunately, there are side-effects . . .
1. Chapter 1

Just a little time travel 'fic. The idea's so neat, after all.

... I rather think this is a bit different from most. Whether that is a good or a bad thing ... I'm not precisely sure yet.

(4/15/2005)

Before you read any further, I suppose it's my duty to inform you that this story will contain slashy elements. (For those of you who have been coming here for a while, yes, I finally moved this announcement to Chapter 1.) If the idea of two people of the same gender having romantic feelings towards each other offends you, it would probably be best if you turn around now.

If you're here to see said characters going at it like rabbits, though, this story is not for you either. There is not now, nor will there ever be any sex in this story. I won't even guarantee that they'll hold hands. This fic is character-focused, and relationship-focused (and I've done my best to make sure that there's some plot in there too), but I like to think that the relationships being focused on are not always the romantic ones.

(11/26/2012)

… And for all you readers who have stuck with this story for the nearly 10 years (!) since I started posting it, and the 7+ years since I stopped – my sincerest apologies for making you wait so long, and I cannot express the depths of awe I feel at the fact that some of you are still around waiting for me.

I've gone through and made minor edits to the existing chapters – most visibly, restoring all the quotation marks that mysteriously disappeared sometime in the past seven years and removing the review responses that ffnet no longer allows. Otherwise – there may be a few sentence-level changes, but I have not materially changed the story. All the same scenes and plot threads are still there; it's still the same post-4th-year AU that it was back when I started writing, when books 5-7 didn't exist yet. (And surprising no one, the Harry Potter franchise still doesn't belong to me, either.)

Of far more interest to you all, I'm sure, is the fact that I've finally sat down and finished it. I will be posting a chapter a day from now until it ends.

So, without further ado, I present Coexistence. I hope you all enjoy reading it at least as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

# # # Chapter 1 # # #

Something was Not Right.

It was a feeling, almost an instinct, completely different from the Sight that Professor Trelawney claimed she had. No, this was no vision of the future, but merely a creeping sensation ... like there was someone watching from the shadows, about to strike.

He had tried to articulate this feeling, to tell his friends about his apprehension, but they hadn't understood. _"Of course you're a bit nervous, Harry."_ Ron had said. _"I would be, too. But you've survived the first two Tasks ... there's only one left! Just think, you might actually win ..."_

It wasn't nervousness about the Third Task, though. Sure, he _was_ nervous – only someone entirely stupid wouldn't be. But this feeling was different, separate ... and neither of them understood that. Ron and Hermione were his anchors in many ways, but both were too down to earth to truly _believe_, much less understand, this nebulous impulse that drove him.

"Have you done your Herbology homework yet?" Hermione asked from somewhere behind him.

An irritable grunt. _Leave me _alone_, Hermione! Can't you see I'm studying?_

"Just being in the Triwizard Tournament does not give you license to skip out on more mundane things like classwork." Hermione said severely, before softening. "Look, Harry ... I know you're worried, but you really need to just _relax_ for a bit. Even _I_ don't study _all_ the time."

It was the same argument they'd been having with increasing frequency – as he grew increasingly reclusive – over the past several weeks. As usual, Harry ended it by shutting his current book and standing, turning to face his friend. "My Herbology is done, Hermione. I'm fine. And I'll relax ... _after_ the Tournament is over." He headed towards the stairs. Distantly, also as usual, he belatedly felt bad about snapping at her, but … certainly _she_ of all people ought to understand the way he had recently attached himself to the stacks of books that now littered – and, at times, haphazardly spilled out of – his corner of his dorm room.

"Harry?" He stopped, turning his head partly back in her direction, though he made no verbal acknowledgment. "You dropped this." He accepted the yellowed sheet of parchment, almost crackling with age. _Must have been stuck between two pages ..._

Then he focused on the text written on the paper, and his eyes widened. _Interesting indeed!_

# # # # #

_I can't let him win._ As if from a distance, Harry could hear Voldemort gloating, could feel the pain at the elbow from which his blood had been taken in order to bring the monster back to life; the sudden weight in his right hand, where his wand had been placed.

"Bow." The snakelike countenance sadistically grinned. _No, not a snake. I like snakes. They may be cold, but they're also kind, after their own fashion._ It was, if possible, one of his best-kept secrets. As a Gryffindor, as the Boy-Who-Stood-Up-To-Voldemort, he was supposed to hate snakes and all they stood for, hate all the Slytherins and Voldemort, the foremost Slytherin of them all.

"No." He hated Voldemort. He greatly disliked Malfoy (both of them ... the elder was, unsurprisingly, here tonight) and Snape and ... well, all the Slytherins he knew. But just because he had never met a Slytherin he liked didn't mean there _wasn't_ one out there. Maybe.

If magic is possible, just about anything could be, right?

The lazy feeling of the Imperius Curse stole over him, dissipating all thoughts. _Bow_. A whisper, then a shout.

Those extra evenings spent with Moody (after he began feeling that Something was Not Right) stood him in good stead. Staring straight into those red eyes _(Gryffindor colors ... weren't they once green?)_, he reiterated. "No."

For a moment, nothing happened, almost as though time had briefly frozen. Then, as one,

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

"_Kawo Kedavre!"_

Had Hermione known what was on the parchment, she most likely would never have returned it to him. The Soul Shredding Curse, _Kawo Kedavre_, was magic at its darkest – a very closely relative to the Killing Curse.

In many ways, it was worse, as it not only killed the body – which Voldemort had, after all, proven it was possible to bounce back from – but utterly annihilated the soul of the person it was cast on.

Perhaps fortunately, it had also never been terribly popular, even among those Dark Wizards who would delight in such things, because of a couple of significant drawbacks:

For one, it was _very_ powerful magic. Only the greatest of wizards had the ability even to consider casting the spell. This was not something that could be thrown around by anyone with slightly higher than average magical ability the way its sister spell, _Avada Kedavra_, could. Even as the words left his lips, Harry still wasn't certain it would work – but it was the best chance he'd found.

And the reason the Dark Wizards with enough basic power themselves didn't use it – it required self-sacrifice. In order to work, the wizard casting it had to draw such immense power from themselves that their body crumbled instantly into dust. Worse, as far as he had been able to tell, no one knew what happened to the soul of the caster.

It could be sent onward to what Professor Dumbledore called "the next great adventure"; it could be doomed to eternally wander the Earth, bereft of even the form taken by ghosts; every source he had managed to find that discussed the curse (though there weren't many) had their own theories, each as completely lacking in solid proof as the next.

Remembering how Voldemort had possessed Professor Quirrell in his first year, and figuring that he would almost certainly be back eventually, probably using the same trick, Harry had made a point of learning the spell.

It was, after all, his purpose to defeat Voldemort. It may not be what he had been born for, but it was what he had Lived for. If only the Dark Lord's body was destroyed, he'd return eventually – experience ought to have taught the world that. Only if his soul was destroyed would this end.

If Harry had to give his life for Voldemort to be killed, so be it. His mother and so many others had given their life just trying to keep Voldemort at bay. It was time the Light Side went on the offensive.

If Voldemort died and the magical world was left in peace, Harry would be at peace too, wherever – and in whatever condition – his own soul ended up.

Shuddering, the cores of their wands reacted against each other, drawing a line of glowing gold between their tips. Voldemort's eyes had gone impossibly wide. "Boy, do you have any idea what you have done?"

"I've defeated you." _I hope._ Yet the bead of light was progressing towards Harry; his doubt as to his ability to pull this spell off was hurting his efforts. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make up for his lack of confidence with sheer determination, and slowly all those doubts drifted away, leaving only cold calm logic in control. He thought of this as the "snake side" of his personality, where the world narrowed to himself, his target, and his conviction that he would be the one to prevail.

The bead, which had been moving steadily, if slowly, in Harry's direction, shuddered to a stop.

_Voldemort must die. It's the only way._ Emotion intruded, an icy anger that reinforced rather than weakened his "snake" side.

_Because my parents ... and all the other parents ... and all the other children and adults that might have eventually become parents shouldn't have died._

_Because Neville's parents shouldn't be lying mad in St. Mungo's while their son muddles his way through school, unable to find confidence in himself._

_Because ... Cedric ..._

# # # # #

Although the students were for the most part unaware of the disaster that had occurred, most of the teachers knew. Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory had vanished, portkeyed out of the center of the maze to no-one-knew-where.

Even if he hadn't been privy to that news, he would have known that something was going on the moment the Mark started to burn. Striving to maintain his usual determined stride, he made his way over to Dumbledore. "News, Severus?" It had been a long time since he had seen his mentor quite so clearly look his age.

"Nothing." He winced as particularly nasty pang shot through his arm; out of habit cast a quick glance around to make sure no one was in clear eavesdropping range. "But ... the Mark ..."

Dumbledore's eyes widened. "Go, Severus."

Without another word, he rushed away. Taking all the shortcuts that had become second-nature all those years before, he soon arrived at the edge of the wards. Rolling back his sleeve, he stared for a moment at the lividly black mark on his arm, an unreadable look on his face. Then, after one unnecessarily deep steadying breath, touched a finger to the Mark and Apparated.

The momentary blackness of Apparition cleared away, leaving him looking around at an unfamiliar graveyard. _Seems like nearly fifteen years as a phantasm hasn't changed his tastes any._

And there was the Dark Lord _reborn he's alive again shit_ and there the brat Potter. A line of light had formed between their wands _he gave Potter back his wand? What was he thinking?_ along which a bead of gold traveled.

Potter's face was cold, distant ... but his eyes, even through the twilit scene, burned.

"What's going on?" He demanded of the nearest cloaked figure, keeping his voice low.

"Severus." Lucius Malfoy. Of course. "How nice to see you made it after all."

He tapped a foot. "Cut to the chase, Lucius. What have I missed?"

"Well, as you see ..." the aristocrat nodded towards the taller of the two figures, "our lord has been reborn, using the bone of his father, the flesh of one of his loyal followers –" a sneer in the direction of a familiar man with an unfamiliar – brand new, of course – shiny silver hand.

Snape sneered too. _Wormtail. The sniveling bastard._ He knew the potion, of course. "And blood of an enemy, unwillingly taken." There, from Potter's right elbow, running down his arm, a trail of red that dripped into a small, but slowly growing puddle. Despite himself, Snape was slightly impressed. _He acts as if he doesn't even feel the pain, and it must be bad ... especially to someone like _him._ Spoiled brat._

"Precisely." Lucius smirked. "Then our Lord gave him back his wand – 'fair fight' and all that – and told him to bow. Even cast the Imperius Curse on him, but the accursed boy threw it off as if it were nothing." How unfair – now Snape had to feel even more impressed. Not many could do as well.

"And?"

"Our Lord cast the Killing Curse at him, of course. But at the same time the boy cast some strange spell – Cow Oh Kedavra? – the spells met, and this happened." Lucius shrugged. "So now we're waiting for our Lord to triumph."

Snape froze. Not for nothing had he had the reputation of knowing more curses entering Hogwarts than most seventh-years – and his knowledge since then had only grown, even as he turned his attention primarily to his one love, potions making, instead.

He was actually surprised that Lucius – who, he heard, had had a similar reputation, and who hadn't had a love of Potions to distract him – didn't know of the curse. More likely, he had come across it once, looked at the consequences, and dismissed it entirely from his memory. That _would_ be like the blond aristocrat. "_Kawo Kedavre?"_ He whispered, a morbid need to be sure taking hold.

"Yes, that's it." Lucius replied dismissively.

Snape closed his eyes._ Oh, Potter ... _There was almost no point in remaining; either way, the boy would be dead ... or worse. _What possessed you?_

Yet, he had a feeling he knew. _Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived_. The boy who defeated Voldemort –although he hadn't. Once Voldemort returned to the public eye, the boy who would have been expected to defeat him once and for all. The boy who was poster child and figurehead for the cause of the Light. The boy_ who had just cast one of the darkest spells in the history of wizardry._

_How could he not feel that it was his responsibility to do anything and everything he could to stop Voldemort?_

Snape bowed his head and mourned the child who had been weighed down by the world's expectations ... and hadn't really been _so_ arrogant as he had always made out the boy to be ... and had somehow pulled through. The boy who might just succeed in accomplishing a task that many men had failed.

He watched as the bead, wavering in first one direction, then the other, began moving steadily towards Voldemort. He leaned forward in anticipation, much like the rest of the Death Eaters surrounding the two. Only he was rooting for the opposite side.

Suddenly, Potter smiled. A truly happy smile that impressed on Snape just how rare an occasion it was, that Potter smiled like this.

With ears accustomed to listening for the slightest change in a fire's roar, the precise instant a mixture began to boil, the exact moment to interrupt a conversation in order to maximize the embarrassment of both students, it's possible that only Snape heard.

For a moment that seemed to last an eternity, the bead hovered on the edge, almost touching Voldemort's shaking wand. "Mum ... Dad ... I'm coming ..." Potter whispered.

The bead touched Voldemort's wand, and the line of golden light flashed _unbearably bright_ to the deepest of blacks – the color of the Soul Shredding Curse.

Voldemort began to scream, a horrific sound that climbed up and up until it passed the registers in which ordinary humans could hear, until only his open mouth and tensed muscles testified to the fact that he continued to scream.

Abruptly, his body fell slack, striking the ground with a muffled thump, as if the soul powering the body had fled. Well, in a way it had – only far more permanently. _Congratulations, Potter. You did it._

Later, Snape would wonder where Potter had found that darkest of Dark spells; would find that scrap of paper wedged between the pages of one of the books on charms and hexes that stacked the boy's corner of his dorm room. Later Hermione would remember picking it up and handing it back to her friend without first looking at what it was; would remember how momentarily shocked Harry had seemed when had taken his first real look at it. Later the world would mourn the death of a boy who had done what many men could – or would – not.

Now, he just watched, silently, a faceless member of a crowd of Death Eaters, the only witnesses.

And Harry Potter, yet again saviour of the wizarding world, still smiling peacefully, disintegrated.

# # # # #

Beneath his eyelids _how do I still have eyelids? I've crumbled into dust or I was supposed to please tell me the spell worked right_ blackness, occasionally interrupted by disorienting swirls of color.

– _looking into a mirror and seeing the face of a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle staring back –_

– _howling with pain as the moon took over and transformed me into a wolf, as my father – _Remus?_ – watched worriedly –_

– _eleven years old, being sorted into Gryffindor –_

– _Slytherin – Ravenclaw – rarely Hufflepuff –_

– _lying in bed, secure in the knowledge that there's someone near me who loves me more than life itself –_

– _Hermione –_

– _Ginny –_

– _Cho –_

– _Ron –_

– _Malfoy –_

– _An endless array of other faces, flitting by too quickly to catch – _

– _SeeingHearingSmellingTasting –_

– Feeling_ –_

Too much. His eyes _how can I have eyes? But I do_ snapped open, staring into the dark, marked by a light _Hagrid's cabin I'm back at Hogwarts what's happening_ and the soothing light _peaceful too peaceful_ of the full moon _thank Merlin I'm not a werewolf still – oh right I never was_.

_:Who are you?:_

A small voice in the back of his head; a feeling that he was not alone in a way that transcended the fact that there was no other person nearby.

The feel of familiar folds of cloth surrounding him; his Invisibility Cloak.

"Who are you?" He asked, returning the question to the small voice. "What's going on?"

_:I asked first.:_ Petulant. Scared. Why? _:Who _are_ you, and what do you want with my body?:_

So he had taken over the body of another? How could he return it? _:I don't know ... it all happened so fast ...:_ He was barely conscious of himself replying to the still-nameless voice. _I did it._ Whatever had happened to put him in this place, he knew it had to do with that spell. _I finally did it. He's gone. Forever._ With that thought came some triumph, yes, but mostly a deep, abiding peace.

_:He did it!:_ For a moment, Harry thought the voice was responding to his inner monologue. _:The greasy git took the bait!:_ Or not. Looking around to try and figure out what the source of the voice's comment, Harry found his eyes focused on a black figure making its way across the lawn in the direction of a very familiar tree.

Greasy git. Whomping Willow. Full moon. Why did that combination sound familiar to him?

And then he knew.

_:Sirius:_ But why would he have his father's Invisibility Cloak when his father was not around? And although fifteen years would certainly wreak many changes, the mental voice hadn't sounded quite familiar enough ...

_:No, I'm James ... waitaminute, how did you know Sirius' name?:_

_:Aren't you going to save him?:_

This was all so terribly, horribly wrong.

_:Save the greasy git? Are you _kidding_? I was planning on watching!:_

No.

Almost before his conscious mind had a chance to catch up, Harry (James?) was on his feet, running across the ground; its light dusting of snow crunching under his feet. _No. I'm not letting anyone else die tonight._

_:What are you doing?! Stop it!: _

He was going to be too late. Snape held out a long stick, obviously selected for the purpose beforehand, reached and prodded the knot. With a shudder, the Willow went still. Tossing the stick aside, he approached the opening in the trunk, and _Harry wasn't going to get there in time_.

"Wait!" He called, a distraction for that crucial last second or so, throwing himself at Snape in a flying tackle that knocked him away from the tree and the deadly secret it hid. Underneath them, the stick broke.

For a moment, Snape lay spread-eagled on the ground, the breath that had been knocked out of him only beginning to come back, with Harry perched on top and almost as out-of-breath. "Potter." Snape choked out. _His_ voice, Harry noted distantly, was the nearly same. "What are you playing at?"

Behind them, safely far enough away that neither was in danger, the tree began once again to move. "Remus Lupin is a werewolf. That's the secret you've been searching for." _:How did you know that?! Why are you telling him?! Are you mad?!:_

Snape was smart; he drew the correct conclusion almost immediately, with no more than a glance at the full moon hanging overhead. "I could have been killed!"

"Precisely." Harry said grimly. "And, however little I like you, no one else should have to die tonight." _:Cedric ... I will never forget.:_

He stood, bent and offered a hand to pull Snape up. "Please don't tell anyone. If not for James and Sirius' sake, then for Remus'. He had no idea that the other two were planning ... this." A world of disgust and disappointment in his voice as he waved in the direction of the tree.

Snape hesitated. Finally, unwillingly, he nodded. "You saved my life; I suppose I owe you that much." Harry began his trek back towards the main building, the Slytherin following closely. At the steps he ducked to pick up the Invisibility Cloak, though he did not put it on yet.

"You're not Potter." The other boy's voice caught him by surprise; the sentiment, he supposed, did not. Enemies knew each other practically as well as friends, after all, if in a rather different light. "Who are you?"

Unwilling to answer, Harry swirled the Invisibility Cloak around his body _James' body this is so weird so wrong_ and disappeared.

1 December 2002  
20 April 2005  
3 August 2011  
28 August 2012


	2. Chapter 2

As does pretty much the entirety of Harry Potter fandom, I despise Wormtail as he was written in canon. Having started this story before book 5 came out, I was determined to, despite that opinion, write him as a real character; I was convinced that someone who was a full Marauder and, among other things, capable of becoming an Animagus at 16 had to have more depth to him than his adult self showed.

Turns out book 5 proved me pretty thoroughly wrong on that account. So I guess my Peter is lucky that I started writing this before it came out. In this story, Peter has always been, and will continue to be, a real character.

The braid is not a full one, but one of those itty-bitty little ones at the nape of the neck that are a lot longer than the majority of the hair. I _think_ I made that clear enough ... I hope ...

Erica Brown is my own invention and most likely Lavender's aunt. Just in case anyone was curious. I'm pretty sure J. K. Rowling owns the rest, though. I'm just borrowing them ... and messing with their heads ... probably traumatizing them for life ...

Anyway!

(6/30/2003) Not much changed. Finally got around to correcting the half-and-half mistake ... and, now that I know the actual color, James' eyes. I think that's it.

(11/26/2012) As mentioned in chapter 1: minor edits. Also updated the author's note to make more sense in a post-book 5 world.

# # # Chapter 2 # # #

Waking up to cheerful – and precious, given its infrequency at this time of year – sunlight, he stretched. _Mm ... It's so nice to have my body back._ Last night ... had been one of the most horrifying nights he had ever lived through. Being suddenly shunted to the back of his own mind, unable to move ... unable to do anything!

At least it was over now.

He sat up, groping towards the bedside table for his glasses. "Sleeping beauty! Awake at last!" Putting the glasses on, he turned towards his best friend (and, rumor had it, long-lost brother), Sirius Black; face rapidly developing a matching grin. "How did it go?" Though that certainly caused the grin to disappear even more quickly.

"How did what go?" Peter Pettigrew, a somewhat stocky boy with blond hair, asked, as he wandered back into their shared room from the bathroom looking about as sleepy as James felt. "I thought you two stayed back here so that you could work on homework. What were you not telling me?"

Sirius – who, to lend credence to the lie, _had_ stayed in the common room until quite late working on homework – looked from Peter to a now-solemn James and back. "Wait, did he not take the bait?"

"Who?" Peter was pulling at the tiny braid that fell from the nape of his neck nearly to his waist, a sure sign that the mild-mannered young wizard was becoming annoyed.

James gritted his teeth. "Oh, Snape took the bait all right. But then some evil raving maniac spirit possessed my body and saved him _and_ told the greasy git Remus' secret."

_:Evil raving maniac? Sorry to disappoint you, but I was not only quite sane, but on the side of the Light, last time I looked:_ A voice in the back of his head sniped. _:And it's certainly not _my_ fault I'm trapped with you.:_

"This isn't about the duel on Saturday, is it?" Peter asked suddenly, eyes suspiciously narrowed. "Look, I know I'm not as good at hexes as you two, and I'm certainly not as smart as Remus, but I _can_ take care of Snape myself. What were you trying to do anyway? Kill him?"

_:Amazing ... I'm impressed.:_ The voice deadpanned. _:Certainly more impressed than I am with you or Sirius. Does the life of a human being really mean so little to you?:_

Peter evidently saw the answer in their not-exactly-repentant faces. "I see." His grip on the braid was white from the force with which he was holding it. "If the spirit's still there – although I assume it's not, given that you're clearly yourself – tell him or her I appreciate it."

_:Tell Wormtail it's the least I could do.:_ The voice replied promptly.

"He said it was the least he could do." James repeated rather mechanically. It had only just really hit him that the voice was, indeed, still there. His eyes widened suddenly. "... and he called you 'Wormtail' ..."

"Probably dug around in your memory." Peter airily dismissed his friend's concern – as though the idea that the spirit might be able to _read minds_ wasn't even more unnerving. "What's your name?" And somehow, James knew that Peter was not speaking to him, but to the nameless entity.

_:Nameless entity? That's better than 'evil raving maniac', at least. _Can_ I dig around in your memory, do you think? Perhaps I'll try later ...:_ There was a nearly audible hesitation. _:I'm Harry.:_

# # # # #

_:Tell him.:_

_:No.:_

_:Tell him.:_

_:No!:_

_:Tell him!:_

_:NO!:_

_:TELL HIM!:_

_:FINE!:_

James jolted out of his seat, muttering curses under his breath.

"Hm?" Sirius looked up briefly from his food, still chewing. "Where're you goin'?"

"I'll be right back." James gritted, stalking away.

Peter smiled. "Bet you it has something to do with Harry." None of them had been able to convince the spirit to give them a last name, so for now he stayed 'just Harry'.

Sirius watched his friend angrily stalking in the direction of the Slytherin table, somewhere he'd never willingly go – unless it was part of a prank, of course. And he was _never_ that angry when pulling off a prank (not to mention, Sirius would be outright insulted if any plans to prank Slytherin ever failed to include him). "No bet, Wormtail."

# # # # #

On the other side of the Great Hall, James reached his goal, addressing himself to the back of a very familiar black head. "Snape. A word."

The black-haired Slytherin turned around and slowly blinked. Shook his head. Rubbed his eyes. Blinked again. The person that looked and sounded eerily like Potter, his nemesis, was still there. _If I was taking any hallucinatory drugs, I'd swear them off right now. _

"Well?"

"What do you want, Potter?" So much for the vaunted Snape eloquence. Oh well. Perhaps he could blame it on his near-death experience the previous night – which situation had been _caused_ by a certain Gryffindor in the first place ...

"A. Word." Whatever had brought his nemesis over to the Slytherin table, he obviously was no happier about it than Snape. "Now. Alone." Before he could shake off the sheer surreal aspects of the situation enough to react at all, much less protest, Potter grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him away.

Of course, as soon as they were far enough away, Potter dropped his wrist like a hot poker. _Probably thinks it's as greasy as my hair._ A bitter thought, aimed more at his image in general than what Potter in particular thought – who cared about _that_, after all? "His name is Harry."

Blink. "Huh?" No, as far as eloquence went, today was most definitely not his day. Then again, today didn't seem to be Potter's day as far as comprehensibility was concerned, either, so maybe it all evened out.

"The stupid spirit. Who took over my body. And saved your life. Last night. Is named. Harry." Potter was obviously hanging onto the final shreds of his patience with his fingernails. "And now that I've told you that, maybe he'll _leave me the _bloody hell_ alone!_" Business apparently concluded, the Head Boy stalked away.

"Harry." A small smile played across his face as he committed that name to memory. _I owe you one, Harry. It is a wizard's debt ... and someday I _will_ find a way to pay you back._

# # # # #

_:Anyone else you want me to babble your presence to? Maybe I should just go straight to Dumbledore!:_ A pause. _:Actually, that's not a bad idea. Maybe the Headmaster would know how to get rid of you.:_

_:Simply spiffing idea.: _Harry agreed affably. _:You're not the only one chafing from this associ ... a ... tion ...:_ He trailed off into silence.

"Why so stormy, dear?" His girlfriend of nearly three years, Lily Evans, approached, giving him a short kiss of greeting.

_:Erk.:_ Harry whimpered in the back of his mind.

James brightened. "Nothing at all, darling Lily. Not so long as you're around." He didn't know exactly why his girlfriend's presence caused such an extreme reaction from the spirit, but hey! Whatever worked. Maybe he'd finally have some peace within his own head again.

"What prank are you planning now, James?" His girlfriend watched him through narrowed eyes. "I love you too, but I don't trust you when you're this happy."

"Nothing at the moment." He murmured absentmindedly, for once using that phrase truthfully. Thought of pranks, though, brought inevitably to mind his spectacular failure the previous night. "Let's not talk of pranks now. How did you do on your Charms homework?"

Ever ready to talk about her favorite subject, Lily gave him only one more suspicious look before launching into a long, detailed monologue. He just let her beautiful voice wash over him and reveled in the feeling of being almost alone in his head.

# # # # #

Morning passed into afternoon and afternoon into evening. Harry had gotten over the shock of meeting Lily to a certain extent, but was still somewhat quieter and less argumentative than he had been previously.

Sunset saw the available Marauders – James, Sirius, and Peter – gathered along with Lily and her best friend, Erica Brown, around a table in the common room. The two girls were regarding the three boys with complete disbelief, having just been informed of James' ... visitor.

"So you're saying that there's some sort of ghost possessing James?" Erica asked Sirius – who had done the majority of the storytelling – doubtfully. "Are you sure this isn't just another of your pranks?"

_:The Boy Who Cried Wolf:_ Harry snickered.

_:What?:_

_:Never mind. It's a Muggle thing.:_

"I'm in full control ... now. He was evidently in full control last night." A sour face. The boys had all glossed rather quickly over what James had been doing the previous night that had prompted Harry to take control, just mentioning that the spirit had done so. While they knew for a fact that the girls liked Snape and the band of Slytherins he ran with as little as they themselves did, they also knew that the girls – Lily especially – would rather vocally disapprove of the methods employed. Not to mention the web of other secrets that would unravel if they started getting into how they knew that there was a werewolf accessible by taking a secret passageway underneath the Whomping Willow.

"And his name is Harry." Lily said. "What else do we know about him?"

"He's Muggleborn." James supplied, surprising the others.

"How do you know?" Peter asked.

"He was just nattering at me about some random Muggle quote. A boy who said 'wolf' or something like that."

"The Boy Who Cried Wolf?" Lily asked, then giggled. "Considering your reputation for pranking, it is really quite an appropriate quote. Good one, Harry."

_:I'm not Muggleborn, actually. My mum was; my dad was a wizard. But I was raised by my Muggle relatives.:_

"Actually, it turns out that it's his mother that was Muggleborn – his father's a wizard – but he was evidently raised by his Muggle relatives." James faithfully passed on to his waiting audience. _:Anything else you'd like to share?:_

"What does he look like?" Erica asked curiously, leaning forward.

_:Look in a mirr-aaahhhh!:_ Harry's voice in his head was abruptly cut off. It sounded almost like the spirit was in pain ...

"Aaahhhh!" James clutched at his head. Pain that he had ever so generously decided to share with James, evidently ...

"James!"

"Prongs!"

"Harry?"

" 'M fine." James groaned. "Merlin, that felt like when my scar hurts."

"What scar?" Lily asked, puzzled.

"Something you haven't told us?" Sirius had grown up with James; they had shared in nearly every escapade and never, as far as he knew, had James been scarred.

James raised his head and everyone recoiled. His eyes, no longer their ordinary, nondescript hazel, were a blazing emerald a shade or two darker than Lily's. "This scar." He raised his bangs, baring to the rest of the group a long thin white line shaped like lightning decorating his forehead.

Although it had only been a wild guess when he had said the name before, now Peter was sure. He leaned forward. "You're Harry, aren't you."

"Yes. Please, don't ask what just happened; I have no more clue than any of you."

"You look a lot like James. But smaller." Erica commented.

The boy smiled, and the change was immense. "I keep hoping I'll start growing someday ... though I suppose that's too much to ask for, now." A wry look.

"What happened to you?" Lily asked. "Maybe if we know that, we can figure out how to get you back where you belong."

A thoughtful frown. "I wouldn't bet on it. I'm pretty sure that my body disintegrated. As I'm sure you've guessed, I'm supposed to be dead." He stretched backwards. "I used a spell – no point in telling you what, since you wouldn't recognize it"_ although Snape might ... I wouldn't put it past him_ "that required the sacrifice of the caster's life; no documentation I could find ever figured out what happened to the caster's soul."

He examined his fingernails, rather rough but surprisingly clean. "I guess now I know."

_:Were you _insane_?: _

Sirius reiterated James' question, and added, "What is worth willingly throwing your life away like that?"

"Have any of you heard of Voldemort?" Harry's face froze, but his eyes burned.

"Don't say that name!" Sirius hissed.

Incongruously, that relaxed Harry's face, bringing back something that resembled another smile. _:The more things change ...:_

_:What are you talking about?:_

_:Nothing. Everyone back home used to have that reaction too. It just ... amused me.:_

"There's your answer. Besides, isn't foolhardy suicidal risk-taking a Gryffindor trait?"

"That's bravery." Sirius corrected.

Harry gave a deliberately nonchalant shrug. "Isn't that what I said?"

# # # # #

As the night wore on, it became clear that Harry's obvious presence had put a damper on the usual evening activities of the other two Marauders present. In the case of Sirius, largely because he was more interested in tag-teaming with Lily on trying to convince Harry to tell them more of the future he came from – particularly, the eventual fate of Voldemort. Knowing, though, that he had probably already revealed too much, Harry kept stubbornly silent. Peter and Erica were mostly quiet as well, observing.

Eventually, the two gave up in disgust and the five Gryffindors began to make their ways up to bed. Harry suspected that usually, this was when the Marauders would have begun to plot or execute their next prank in earnest, but between the presence of an outsider – Harry – and the fact that any consultation of James would require going through him, nothing happened.

Harry lay back in the bed – he had been surprised, last night, to learn that James' bed was where his would be someday – hands tucked behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. This day had been ... strange.

_Sirius. _It was so heartbreaking to see his godfather this way, so much younger and happier than the brittle man he knew. Yet he could still see in this Sirius the fanatical loyalty to those he loved and the strong protective instinct that would someday cause him to go nearly mad at the betrayal of one of those he trusted so deeply, the protectiveness that would cause him to lash out at Peter and, later, would hurt him so when he realized how much of Harry's life had gone by without him there.

Sirius was very similar to himself, but not nearly as ... shadowed as the man Harry knew. This Sirius knew how to laugh, and for that Harry was grateful. If he ever returned home ...

No. It was beyond all reasonable hope that he even still existed, as warped and vicarious as this life might be. To think that he might ever return to the life he knew before was frankly impossible. He refused to even entertain the notion, as it would only hurt him, make him even more homesick than he was already.

_Peter_. The betrayal burned ... but how could he hate this young man? He had tried. When he first looked upon the traitor and realized that that was who he was looking at, he _had_ tried. But he just couldn't. He couldn't see the whiny little rat of a man that had begged at their feet for his life, not in this proud young man who willingly told off his friends when he thought they had done something wrong.

This Peter was one he thought he would be proud to call friend; he certainly liked him a great deal more than either Sirius or James at this point. What had changed him so?

_Lily_. She was ... wow. Really special. And stunningly beautiful, at least to Harry's eyes. She was everything he had ever imagined his mother might be like; smart and funny and charming and gentle and loving. James didn't deserve her.

Still, that kiss ... ew. Even being a silent observer in the back of James' head instead of an active participant, watching his body kiss his mother like _that_ was really, really _wrong_.

Good Lord. Suddenly, he had a perfect reason for wanting to get out of this situation. If just _kissing_ Lily felt this wrong, he _really_ didn't want to be around by the time James and Lily got married.

_James._ His 'other self'. His _father_. Who had actively participated in Snape's near murder ... and who _hadn't_ realized his error. If Harry hadn't appeared, Snape may very well have died. And however little Harry liked his irritable Potions professor, he certainly didn't want the man to die. No, Harry did not have a very high opinion of his father right now, although he also realized that he was perhaps depending more on his strongly negative first impression than he probably ought.

James was loyal to his friends, after all, an admirable quality ... even if he displayed that loyalty in ways that Harry virulently disapproved of. Above and beyond the fact that Harry didn't see attempted murder as a valid way to solve one's problems (Voldemort being a notable exception) ... if James had really wanted Snape dead that badly, he should have had the courage to do it himself. _Not_ just sit by and wait while his friend – one of his _best_ friends, for Merlin's sake! – did it at a time when he had no control of himself.

_Remus!_ That was who he had been missing – he had completely forgotten about the fourth Marauder. The full moon had been last night; surely he ought to be back by now. Then again, none of the others seemed worried ... but ...

He levered himself out of bed, listening with satisfaction to the snores coming from two of the other three beds ... and even from the back of his head. He spared a brief moment wondering how James could be snoring when he wasn't actually _breathing_ – Harry was in charge of that particular involuntary function right now – before shrugging it off in favor of more important concerns. Opening James' trunk, he was pleased to see the Invisibility Cloak folded up on top right where he had left it, picked it up, put it back on, and padded out of the room as quietly as he could manage. He had a werewolf to visit.

# # # # #

_Hot ... so hot ..._ He tossed the threadbare blanket off, baring the legs and lower half of his torso that were all he had managed to cover as he fell into bed that morning, exhausted and in pain as usual.

He had smelled and seen the Rat last night, but not the Dog or the Prey. _Peter_. He insisted muzzily to himself. _Sirius. James. My friends. So cold ..._ He shivered convulsively, curling up into as tiny a ball as he could manage.

A warm weight drifted down on top of him; gentle hands tucking the edges of the blanket closer. He knew academically that this was just another hallucination – they were common when the fever was at its worst the day after he transformed, and this sort of tender care was far from an uncommon theme. It was like his parents were tucking him in for the night, a comforting homey feeling that he hadn't experienced since he had been bitten – despite the information they had been given about his condition, his parents had always feared it was somehow contagious.

Despite how hard he tried to stop them – not all that hard, considering the shape he was in – a few tears leaked out through the corners of his closed eyes. It was only a dream. Only a dream. His friends were wonderful, but they would never do this for him ... he had made certain they never knew just how hard the transformations were on him.

Warmcool fingers wiped the tears away, touched his forehead briefly. If only this were real ...

No. He didn't want this to be real, because if this were real, he would have to push whoever it was away. He was dangerous. He couldn't allow anyone near him. Not now, not ever. He already feared that he had done irreparable damage by becoming as close to the other Marauders as he had become.

He was a werewolf; he could never allow anyone close to him, close enough to cuddle, to have another warm presence beside him, to have someone who would care for him as he would care for them. It had to be a dream.

"Remus?" A gentle soft voice, alto or tenor. "Oh, Remus ..." The voice sounded sad. For him? Why?

An immense effort; the fingers of his left hand twitched. That same logical corner of his mind from before noted that he appeared to be in a worse state than usual.

"Remus?" A note of hope. Really, this was a very realistic hallucination. "Remus, can you tell me which of these potions you need to take?"

Potions. Potions. _Ah!_ That's why it was worse than usual. Which did he need to take? He tried to overcome the fuzziness that filled most of his mind. The wonderful hallucination wanted something from him, so he needed to tell it. "All ..." His voice cracked; he could feel a migraine coming on from the effort, something he usually managed to avoid because he didn't usually have to think.

"All five?"

"Mm." He tried to sound as affirmative as he could. What else did the hallucination need to know? "Red ... first ..."

"All right." Almost immediately, there was a cup at his lips, a gentle hand lifting his head, the sickly-sweet liquid running down his throat as he convulsively swallowed. The potion went into effect as quickly as it always did, and he felt his head beginning to clear.

As his head cleared, he knew that now that he could think properly again, the hallucination would disappear, and that knowledge was almost enough to drive him back to those tears of self-pity he had shed before. Yet ... the next potion, and the next ... and the hand supporting his head only briefly disappeared between the potions before reappearing. Always reappearing.

A fever dream, then. Those, too, were common. He felt recovered enough now to open his eyes, if still tired ... always tired ... But not tired enough that he was willing to miss the chance to see what sort of person his subconscious had dreamt up.

"Merlin, Remus, you scared me! You were so still ..." Messy black hair and lightish eyes and large glasses. _James? Why would I dream fever dreams about James? _

"James?" He propped himself up on one of his elbows, wincing as he rubbed a scrape the wrong way and his sore muscles – which, to be fair, was pretty much all of them – protested. He could dull the pain with his potions, but not get rid of it entirely; he just wasn't that good yet. "Where were you and Sirius last night?"

The fever dream James stiffened, his face hardening into an expression hardly ever worn by the real James. "Sirius was evidently back in the common room studying." The voice was ... off. Soothing, wonderful, the voice of his beautiful hallucination, yes ... but not the voice of James. In addition to being somewhat higher in pitch, it was also too soft, too quiet, too well modulated. The voice of someone accustomed to solitude, to avoiding or being ignored by the spotlight.

"James was not too far away, actually. Eagerly anticipating watching you rip Snape's throat out."

Only the persistent pain in his muscles prevented him from bolting upright. "Snape? What was Snape doing anywhere near here?" _Please oh please let it not be true just a dream just a dream thank Merlin it's just a dream ..._

"Either James or Sirius – on that point, I'm not absolutely certain – evidently told Snape how he could get through the Whomping Willow."

He squeezed his eyes shut. _No! Nonononono! I'm not a murderer please I'm not I didn't mean it why don't I remember I didn't want to murder anyone oh please it's just a dream whywhywhy?_ Those hands, so gentle when tending to him, shook him roughly, snapping his eyes back open and his gaze back to the fever dream's face.

Focusing straight into fever dream James' ... green ... eyes. Deep green eyes that told a story of worry over him. Him! _Why? Not only am I a werewolf, now I'm a murderer too. I don't deserve this kindness. _

"Listen to me, Remus Lupin, and listen closely." The gentle voice was now velvet covering solid steel. "Nothing. Happened. I managed to pull Snape away before he could even enter the tree, much less make it all the way to the Shack. And even if something had happened – if Snape had been hurt or, Merlin forbid, killed – you would not have been at fault. That blame would have rested solely on James and Sirius."

Remus stared at this phantasm, who stared back even more intently, shaken by the faith he saw in the other boy's eyes. Even more sure, now, that this was just a fever dream. And yet … he had to know. "Who _are _you?"

"A friend. My name is Harry." Harry smiled sweetly. "I'm so glad you're okay."

And even though this was a fever dream – he believed that, he _had_ to – there was something else he knew he needed to say. "Harry ..." An unfamiliar name on his lips. "Thank you. Thank you for saving Snape from me."

The other boy looked downwards, embarrassed. Embarrassed by clearly deserved praise – the longer this dream went on, the more clear it became that despite their similar appearances, this was most definitely not James. "I'm just ... just so very tired of death. I may dislike Snape, but he doesn't deserve to die. No one deserves to die like that. And you don't deserve to have that on your conscience."

As though speaking directly to Remus was too hard, Harry instead concentrated his attention on the now-empty jars that littered the table beside the bed, rearranging them with motions sufficiently quick that it made Remus' still fuzzy head hurt to try and focus, yet were oddly mesmerizing. Even after Harry finished speaking, Remus was distracted from responding by his interest in the display.

Eventually, however, Harry settled on a pyramid-like structure – the four larger bottles forming the base of the pyramid with the fifth, smaller bottle perched in the center on top. Remus shook his head gingerly – it wasn't like it could hurt much more than it already was – in an attempt to bring himself back on task. "Nonetheless, I thank you. You don't have to accept my thanks, but know that you have them."

"What else can I say to that but 'you're welcome'?" Harry asked, with a wry smile that suddenly transformed into a huge yawn.

"What time is it?" Remus asked. He often lost track of time in the 'Shrieking Shack', as the villagers called it, due to the complete lack of windows.

"I dunno. Probably after midnight."

"What are you doing here looking after me, then? Go to bed!" He waved a hand. "Shoo!"

"If you're sure you'll be all right ..."

"I've been a werewolf for about twelve years now. I'm used to it."

"But will you be _all right_?" Remus was bemused to note that, despite their many differences, Harry's expression bore a remarkable similarity to James' when he was feeling particularly mulish.

He rolled his eyes. "No. I hurt all over because I don't know how to brew a good enough pain-numbing potion. The scratches and bruises will probably heal before the next full moon, while the strained muscles will be good as new by the end of the week. I'm tired, feverish, and the only reason I'm telling you this is because I _know_ you're a fever dream or hallucination of some sort. But I will survive, and I will be back on my feet and back attending school by tomorrow. I _promise_."

"I'll hold you to that." Harry rose unsteadily to his feet and yawned again. "I'll see you tomorrow, Remus ... even if you don't see me." He walked through the door, disappearing down the passageway back towards the Whomping Willow.

"Goodbye, Harry." He continued watching the doorway long after the other boy had gone, mulling over what he had said and wondering how much of it was actually real.

Finally, he rolled over, ignoring the protests of muscles and injuries. _Goodbye, my fever dream. I'll miss you._ Then exhaustion finally overcame the pain and he slept.

# # # # #

A very small amount of light seeped into the small house through cracks in the boards blocking the windows. One such beam just happened to come to rest over the eyes of the sleeping seventeen-year-old. Eyelids twitched, squeezed tighter shut, opened. He looked around, eyes already accustomed to the extremely dim light.

For a moment, he stared at the dust motes whirling lazily through the beam of sunlight, mind blank. Then the memory of the previous night slipped back in, and he deflated. _Just a fever dream. How could it have been anything else?_ He often dreamed, after all, that he was a child again, that his parents still tucked him in and sang the soothing lullabies that had always lulled him to sleep. This was just a variation on that common theme, perhaps a sign that his subconscious was beginning to accept that he was no longer, and would never again return to being, a child. Nothing more.

Then his eyes fell on the five bottles sitting on the small table beside his bed; arranged into a miniature pyramid of glass.

26 December 2002  
30 June 2002  
8 August 2011  
28 August 2012


	3. Chapter 3

Nothing in particular to say …

Harry Potter does not belong to me …

Yay …

(11/26/2012: Minor edits)

# # # Chapter 3 # # #

Still coming to terms with the disturbing conclusion that the events of the previous night may not have been just a dream after all, and either way unwilling to break the promise he had made, Remus dragged himself down the hallway from the Shrieking Shack to the Whomping Willow and up towards Hogwarts proper.

He didn't notice anyone else out wandering the grounds; as the chill wind bit through his cloak like it wasn't even there, Remus acknowledged that getting back inside sooner rather than later sounded like an excellent idea. He often enjoyed his treks back to the school proper … but then, he also usually gave his inevitably exhausted and often fever-wracked body an extra day to recover.

Finally within sight of the doors to the Great Hall, he paused, leaning against a nearby fencepost to catch his breath.

"I see you're returning a bit early." Remus jumped. Was that really …? "Ordinarily we wouldn't be _blessed_ with your presence until late this afternoon or early tomorrow morning."

He turned to look over his shoulder, surprised to see that it really was Snape, even though the voice was unmistakable. Bemused, part of him wondered how long the other boy had been following him unnoticed; another part of him noted that it didn't really matter anymore, now that Snape apparently knew the secret he had been trying to hide. And then, drowning all other thought, a rush of relief so strong it bordered on euphoria, for there the man was – just as greasy and irritable and rude as always. Alive. Unhurt. "What do you want, Snape?"

From the wary look that got, Snape had paid less attention to the words and more to the fact that, by his tone, Remus sounded positively happy to see him. "Why, nothing at all, Lupin. Just hoping for the health of whatever relative of yours it was that fell ill this month."

He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Remus to, after one last bracing breath, shove away from the fencepost and continue back towards the castle, shaking his head. He was pretty sure that was the closest the two of them had come to having a real, non-hostile conversation since … well, ever.

_Maybe this is still part of my fever dream …_

# # # # #

"I assume your cousin is on the mend?" Professor McGonagall asked politely when Remus entered the classroom a few minutes before class started. She was clearly startled, although she hid it fairly well – and no wonder, since as Remus' Head of House, she was one of the few who _really_ knew where it was the werewolf disappeared to each month. She studied his face. "You don't look too good, Mr. Lupin. Would you like to go to the Hospital Wing?"

Truth be told, he_ was_ tempted, but he shook his head firmly. "No thank you, Professor. I promised someone I'd be in today."

"Who?" Who knew how to find you? Was her real question, no doubt.

He smiled. "A hallucination. But I'm still going to keep my promise."

Seeing him admit so openly to hallucinating obviously worried his professor, but with him so determined to stay, she didn't push the issue further. "Very well, Mr. Lupin. Find your seat."

"Nice to see you back so early, Moony." Peter whispered his greeting as Remus slid into a seat beside him – the two frequently sat together in classes that were set up for pairs, since of the four, James and Sirius were _always_ together. "You won't _believe_ what's happened since I saw you last."

_I've got an interesting story or two of my own to tell_, he thought, amused, but silent. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to share the story yet, especially given that his friends tended to be even larger mother hens than the teachers; speaking so matter-of-factly about a hallucination would worry them.

"Try me." Remus leaned his head on one hand and looked at his friend, allowing his amusement to show on his face.

Peter hesitated. "Well … I guess I'm not sure quite where to start." A glare. "And don't you _dare_ say 'the beginning'."

Remus closed his mouth.

"Let's see … I guess it started when James and Sirius decided to do something about Snape." The blond frowned. "Something … permanent."

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Remus could see how the story was going to end. "They told Snape about the entrance to the Whomping Willow."

Peter blinked. "How did you know?"

_Crap._ Up 'til then, Remus had held out some small hope that he – that Harry had been wrong, had misconstrued the situation somehow. (Or, still the likeliest theory, had never existed in the first place.)

Wait. Harry. His head shot up and he stared at Peter, pain and exhaustion temporarily forgotten. "Harry is _real_? _Really_ real?"

Peter squinted at the apparent non sequitur for a moment, then his face cleared. "So that's who told you." Hesitation. "… I … you might not want to take _everything_ Harry said at face value. I mean, he was certainly right about … Snape and that situation … but I get the idea that he doesn't like James too much. So he might …" Peter floundered.

_Poor Wormtail_. Remus knew from experience how much his friend disliked being negative, particularly when his friends were involved. He tended to view the world through rose-tinted lenses at times. "… his relation of events might have been a bit biased?" Remus suggested.

"Yes, that's it, exactly!" Peter agreed with a grateful smile.

"Then I'm even more impressed. I got the idea that he didn't exactly approve of either of them, but he didn't _say_ anything outright, and he downplayed his role. I don't know that he was planning on telling me about his role in the" how to put it? "_events_ that night at all, until I started going all hysterical on him. Thinking that I really had …" He trailed off. The fear that conversation had sparked was still with him. Fear that someday he really _would_ go out of control with someone innocent nearby.

He shook his head. "So who is Harry, really? A foreign exchange student? What year is he? What's his last name? When did he get here? Why …"

"Whoa!" Peter held up his hands, laughing. "I … we still really don't know all that much about Harry; he's been really close-mouthed about just about everything. He's not a student here, though."

"How can he be not a student? He was wearing a school robe … and he was far too solid to be a ghost."

"Not precisely a ghost … more a spirit. He possessed James in order to save Snape. Now, as far as we can tell, James is himself during the day, and Harry as soon as the sun goes down. They seem to be able to communicate, whoever's in control, though."

Laugh-lines creased Remus' eyes. "That must be … hard on James." _Serves him right._

Peter nodded, trying vainly to suppress his own smirk. "You should have seen him at breakfast yesterday. It looked like Harry was on the verge of giving him a migraine."

"Good for Harry." Remus said firmly. "So, he's just Harry?"

"Just Harry." Peter nodded. "Aside from his first name, we know that his dad was a wizard and his mum Muggleborn, but he ended up raised by Muggle relatives – so obviously something must have happened to his parents. Maybe they were killed …"

Remus bit his lip. "I hope not. Though you're probably right … he gives me this feeling, like nothing ever goes right with his life. He looks a lot like James, but as far as personality is concerned …"

"It would be hard to find two people more different." Peter agreed. "Although I'm _pretty_ sure Harry is or was or will be or … whatever, you know what I mean … a Gryffindor. He knew his way around the Tower too well."

"He also knew about the entrance under you-know-where." Remus added. "And even among students that have been here for all seven years, there are only four of us – well, five now, evidently – who know _that_ particular secret."

"About that." Peter hesitated. "I'm sorry, Moony. It's my fault that the other two wanted to get rid of Snape that badly. They were only … well, as much as it grates to say, they _were_ only trying to protect me."

Remus chuckled. "Don't we all want to get rid of Snape? Just … not quite that permanently." His face grew serious. "Now I'm going to paraphrase Harry at you: 'Even if something _had_ happened – which it didn't, thanks to Harry – it would not have been your fault. If anyone's, it would have been James' and Sirius' fault for being so stupid.'"

Peter reluctantly smiled. "Yeah, I suppose."

Remus tossed that topic away with a shake of his head as he leaned towards Peter. "Now … if you don't mind, let's get back to gossiping about Harry."

# # # # #

When James entered the Transfiguration classroom, he stopped for a moment in the doorway, surprised to see Remus sitting on the far side of the room next to Peter – who had made a point of sitting as far away as possible in all the classes they had had since That Night – looking very worn, but still chatting away merrily. For a moment, he thought he caught something similar to pleased surprise emanating from Harry, before the spirit suppressed it.

He wondered where Harry had learned such emotional control. It was kind of creepy, the way it seemed that the spirit could almost obliterate his emotions when he felt it necessary, yet go back to being 'normal', if somewhat quiet, the next moment.

He sat by Lily, who greeted him with her usual welcoming smile. He had always valued his girlfriend highly, yet in the past few days he had discovered new levels of appreciation for her. When it seemed that all his friends were leaving him – Peter and, evidently, now Remus as well – Lily was steady as a rock by his side.

_:Steady as a rock? How unpoetic.:_

Another irritating thing about Harry was the way the annoyance seemed to be able to read anything and everything he was thinking, on a whim. When _James_ was consigned to the back of their head, there were times when he could barely even keep track of the most basic of Harry's surface thoughts.

He narrowed his eyes. _:Stop doing that. And whaddaya mean, 'poetic'? Don't tell me you're trying to steal my girlfriend, too!:_

_:Me and LILY? Gack!:_

He got the impression that, had Harry had his own body, he would have been curled up in a fetal ball about now. _:No! That is … that is just so incredibly wrong. There are not words strong enough to describe just how wrong that is.:_ A pause. _:Hey, wait … what do you mean, 'too'?:_

_:Well, you've certainly done a good enough job at turning Wormtail and, evidently, Moony as well, away from me.:_

Out of an obscure sense of insult, he added, _:And what do you have against Lily anyway? Are you gay?:_

Now _that_ would be uncomfortable. What if Harry started fancying one of his friends? … That would be _so_ uncomfortable, being forced to look at his best friends like _that._

Erk. Come to think of it … what if Harry started fancying _him_?

_:Not if you were the last man on Earth.:_

Harry sniped, apparently choosing the thought James least wished for him to have seen, to respond to first. James wished, idly, that he could do that to Harry, or at least learn to shield his surface thoughts as well as Harry could. _:Even if I _was _gay. Which I'm not. I don't think.:_ A pause. _:Anyway. _I'm_ certainly not the one whose actions drove the rest of the Marauders away. At least you still have Sirius. And good riddance to both of you.:_

Harry's presence retreated into the back of his head, possibly to sleep. Goodness knew _James_ felt tired enough, and he had had a full night's sleep the previous night. As alone in his head as he ever got anymore, he sighed. When had it all started to go so wrong?

Well … at least he still had Lily.

# # # # #

Although he usually ate lunch with his friends, some days James would end up staying after Transfiguration to chat with Professor McGonagall. This sometimes –more often recently than in earlier years – involved additional practical applications too, which had the twin benefits of being fascinating and helping him to maintain his position as the top Transfiguration student of the year.

Occasionally, the two of them became sufficiently involved in their discussions or practice that he missed lunch entirely – although the stomach of a teenage boy with a healthy appetite functioned as a pretty good alarm. James would swear up and down that the fact that he was staying extra late today had absolutely nothing to do with a niggling desire to avoid Remus. He was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors aren't cowards. Today's subject was just really interesting, that's all. So many potential avenues of deeper investigation – of course he had a lot of questions.

Eventually it was Professor McGonagall who called their session to a halt, pleading hunger of her own. As he assisted her in straightening up the last of the supplies, she paused to peer at him consideringly. "Is something the matter, Mr. Potter? You appear a bit ill-at-ease."

_One of my best friends isn't talking to me, and I don't know how much another one knows, but if he knows the full story he probably doesn't really like me much right now either. Oh, and I have a crazy spirit living in my head who takes over my body at sunset. _

He smiled his sincerest smile. "Oh no, I'm fine." The only thing she might be able to help with was the matter of Harry, and though he really wanted to see the spirit gone, he didn't think it was quite important enough a matter yet to be bothering his head of house about. Not when Harry seemed to be fairly benign so far. Extremely irritating, but benign.

The last of the straightening up done, he popped his back and then gathered his supplies, swinging his book bag over one shoulder. "Thanks for the extra help, Professor."

She smiled back. "It's been a pleasure, as always."

The halls were pleasantly empty at this hour – most people long gone from lunch to their next destination – and James was not terribly surprised (and traitorously, a bit relieved) to see that only Sirius was still in the Great Hall waiting for him.

"They've come and gone already." Sirius remarked, tearing into his food in a manner much tidier than it looked. It never ceased to amaze James just how much food the other boy could pack away, especially given that he had probably been eating off and on since the normal hour. "Remus was looking a little grey, and didn't eat much. I wonder what brought him back early."

That was a question James didn't feel like he could address on an empty stomach. Given the late hour, he opted for a smaller lunch than usual, and finished a commensurate amount quicker. Idly watching as his plate obediently disappeared, he shoved himself to his feet. "Knowing the way these past few days have been going," he finally commented dryly, "I have no doubt that it's somehow Harry's fault."

"And Snape's." Sirius added.

James blinked. Not that he didn't agree with the sentiment on general principles, but …

"Remember? It's _always_ Snape's fault." Sirius' easy grin provoked a matching expression on James' own face as his best friend also stood. "Now come on, let's go get our homework over with. I'll help you with History if you'll share some of the new stuff McGonagall showed you. You stayed late enough today that I bet it's worth it."

James laughed and punched Sirius' shoulder. "When you're offering a trade, you really ought to offer something that's actually appealing. After seven years, you should know that I know that you're no better at History than I am." Of course, that in no way meant that he wasn't going to show off McGonagall's tricks eventually – Sirius always managed to find some way to worm them out of him.

Bickering companionably, they wandered back up to the Gryffindor common room, and it was there that James finally came face-to-face – or rather, face-to-back – with Remus. He froze for a moment, then smiled weakly. "Hey, Moony."

The werewolf also froze at the sound of his voice, and ever so slowly turned to fully face him. "When you were making your plans," he hissed, "did it ever occur to you to stop and consider _my_ probable input?"

_But … it was _Snape_! _For some reason, though, that answer seemed less adequate than when he had used it before. Perhaps wisely, he kept his mouth shut.

Remus sneered, probably seeing the answer in James' face. "Next time you want someone torn to pieces, why don't you do it yourself?"

He turned on his heel and walked away.

# # # # #

"What year were you in?"

Harry looked up from his cross-legged position on the floor in front of James' Charms homework, still biting his lip a bit. "I was a couple weeks from graduating from fourth year." He grinned. "That is, assuming I didn't have to stay back because I failed Potions."

Peter laughed. "Amen to that. I live in constant fear of totally failing Potions. Of course, know-it-all Remus here has none of those sorts of problems." While coming from someone else it might have been intended as an insult, Peter used the epithet 'know-it-all' with enough clear fondness to show that he meant nothing of the sort.

"I have – _had_ a friend like that." Harry corrected his tense, staring into the fire with a drawn face neither of them had seen before. "I hope they don't take my … _death_ … too hard …" He shook his head, pointedly returning his attention back to the parchment in front of him.

"Do you want help? James stinks at Charms, so the quality doesn't have to be great … but it _is_ still seventh-year curriculum." Remus offered, provoking a raised eyebrow from Peter, who could count on one hand the number of times he remembered Remus volunteering to help one of them with their homework.

"Heh." Harry looked mildly embarrassed. "You know, that hadn't even occurred to me. I may take you up on that offer later – if I stay around that long – but I don't really need the help for this assignment."

"Is that the essay on the Patronus Charm?" Peter sat up. "Forget Harry, Moony. _I'd_ like your help!"

A choked sound caught both Marauders' attention and they turned towards their new friend with concern. Harry looked as if he was about to go into convulsions, he was trying so hard not to laugh. When after a few seconds his willpower failed him, the resultant peal of joyous sound surprised them both.

"What's so funny?" Peter sounded highly insulted, a sure sign that he was faking it.

Harry reached up under his glasses to wipe tears out of the corners of his eyes. "Nothing, really. You just reminded me of the way Ron and I are always begging 'Mione to let us copy her homework." Again he shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the memories from his mind. "For this one assignment, _I'll_ help you, if you want it."

"Would you? I'm having particular trouble with this, even worse than usual." Peter abandoned the nearby chair he had been sitting in to join Harry on the floor.

"Remus? Would you like to join us?" Harry sounded almost hesitant as he motioned towards the rug. "There's plenty of room down here for you."

Remus worked alone. Yet … looking at Harry's hopeful face, how could he refuse? He had already made the mistake of letting the younger boy within his guard; now he was having an increasingly hard time trying to force his customary aloofness back into place.

Besides, what would it hurt, just this once? He sat down beside Harry and Peter and was immediately rewarded with beaming smiles from both of them. One thing itched at his curiosity bump, though … "Harry? Where did you learn about the Patronus? I don't think it's in standard fourth-year curriculum anywhere?"

A twisted smile. "Dementors like me." He paused, as if debating whether he should say any more. "I had to learn it in order to protect myself – the Ministry forced our Headmaster to allow them to guard the school last year. My DADA professor gave me private lessons."

_Dementors like me._ That statement made Remus even more certain that Harry's life had not been a good one – the awful things thrived on bad memories, and the more bad memories there were, the better.

But Harry was continuing. "Anyway. Are you supposed to perform the charm or just learn about it?"

"In previous years, I think they just had to learn about it, but with You-Know-Who becoming a greater threat, this year Professor Flitwick wants us all to learn how to cast the charm." Remus stated.

"In more peaceful times, it was barely even a sub-topic." Peter interjected. "The usual tactic was to give a _lot_ of extra credit to those so anal as to actually bother to learn it. Or at least, that's what my brother said."

"You have a brother?" Harry was clearly surprised, more than Remus would have expected as a reaction to so little a thing as finding out that a person you had only recently met was not an only child. He turned to Remus. "What about you?"

"Older brother and a younger sister. Sarah, she's in third year, a Hufflepuff. Mark graduated … lessee, four years ago now." Peter clarified.

Remus shook his head. "My parents were planning on having another child, but it just never quite happened. Especially not after …" He trailed off. _After I was bitten._

Peter and Harry both grimaced sympathetically. Peter had learned the story along with Sirius and James in second year; given that Harry had known that Remus was a werewolf in the first place, he wasn't too surprised the enigmatic spirit also knew the circumstances.

Now, _how_ Harry knew as much as he did was an entirely different question; one he hoped to someday learn the answer to, but one he suspected he wouldn't get very far with if he just asked outright. "What about you, Harry?" In his quest to turn the subject to a more favorably one, his mouth ran before his mind had a chance to catch up. _Stupid! Grew up with Muggles … his parents are probably dead, remember?_

"I'm an only child. I suppose you could call my cousin Dudley a foster-brother, since I have lived with him ever since my parents died." A wry grin. "Though I'd rather you didn't."

Even though he had suspected as much, Remus still felt that tightening in his gut of horror/sorrow/sympathy/suppressed relief that it had not been _him_ who lost a loved one. The feeling that made him want to rush home in fear that his parents would have somehow disappeared before he made it back. No matter how strained their relationship had been since he was bitten, he still loved them and knew that they loved him. "I'm sorry." Peter said quietly.

"I am too." Harry seemed entirely too calm. "Everyone – well, _nearly_ everyone – I've talked to seemed to hold a very high opinion of them; they sound like nice people to have known." His mouth quirked for a moment; Remus wondered what he could possibly find funny about that thought.

"You sound so …" _cold. _

"… clinical? Uncaring?" Harry drew his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them as he focused his entire attention on the two Marauders. All three essays lay on the ground, abandoned for the time being. "I care. I would love nothing more than to have them back again, to have two real parents and a real home and maybe real brothers and sisters too; a real family. A normal family."

He closed his eyes. "I get so tired, sometimes, of the way my life is _never_ normal. Even this …" he shook his head. "But no matter how much I care, I don't mourn their death 'properly'. I can't, because I don't have the right sense of loss. It is the loss of the family-that-might-have-been that I feel, not the loss of people that I knew and loved."

He gestured with one hand, helplessly. "I never knew them, was never given a chance to. They were killed when I was only fifteen months old; my only memory of them is of their voices the moments before they died, a flash of green light, and Voldemort's chilling, high-pitched laughter in the background."

He put that hand down on the stack of parchment that was his/James' essay. "Did you know that a large part of properly performing the Patronus Charm is truly wanting to? More than just summoning up the happy memory, it involves truly wishing for the Patronus to appear." Even given the variability of the flickering firelight, his eyes seemed several shades darker than before.

"That's why it took me so long to get it right. Because I hated the Dementors, but. But whenever they were near, I could hear my parents' voices – the first time I had ever heard them. Their last moments, yes – my father telling my mother to take me and run, my mother pleading with Voldemort, trying to bargain for my life if not her own – but still their voices."

"Before I could perform the Patronus, I had to find within me the strength to throw away that last connection to my parents. To deny the horror that spoke with my mother's and father's voices."

He grinned, suddenly whimsical. "Then again, the Dementors also caused me to lose a Quidditch game. I guess that shows where my priorities lie, huh?"

_Harry plays Quidditch. I wonder which position?_ Remus filed that bit of information away for later perusal, noting that, from Peter's expression, he was doing much the same thing. Focused on the details, because the rest of the story he wasn't sure he could think about with aplomb just yet.

Purposefully, Harry picked his quill back up. "Well, now that I've indulged in self-pity, shall we get some actual work done?"

As the three of them bent back over their parchments, an earlier comment of Harry's drifted back into Remus' mind. _'Last year' … he learned to control the Patronus Charm as a _third_ year? I wouldn't have thought that possible …_

_Then again, this is Harry. Sometimes, I wonder if Mystery isn't his proper middle name … whatever his real one ends up being. I get the feeling that he's been through and done a lot that most people his age – heck, even most people _my_ age! – haven't._

_Well, one thing's for sure … no matter how good he is at magic, to have learned the Patronus Charm at fourteen … or perhaps even thirteen, if he has a late birthday …_

_He must have had a _damn_ good teacher._

21 January 2003  
27 August 2011  
28 August 2012


	4. Chapter 4

As always, I'm sorry that it took me so long to get this chapter up. It is, I believe, a bit longer than usual … and yet it covered fewer salient plot points than I expected to when I set out at the beginning to work on it.

Oh well. It also brought up a few that I hadn't expected to, so I guess it all evens out.

Anyway, you do know by now that Harry Potter does not belong to me …

… Right?

(11/26/2012 – Minor edits and fixing the punctuation)

# # # Chapter 4 # # #

"What?"

Peter blinked, but obligingly repeated himself. "I asked if you would be willing to be my second in my duel with Snape tomorrow night."

"… That's what I thought you said. Shouldn't you be asking this during the day? I'm afraid James fell asleep early tonight." From boredom, most likely – the week's DADA assignment was more or less pure research, something that (as far as Harry could tell) James had _never _been all that fond of.

Even Harry, who had discovered within himself an unexpected aptitude for research through his efforts to prepare for what ended up being his Final Battle, was finding it rather hard going.

"I thought as much – you seemed more relaxed than usual, and I know that James gets most tensed up when he's talking to you, so I figured the reverse might be true as well. That's why I waited this long – I'm asking _you_, not James." Peter glanced around the now mostly-empty common room and tugged lightly at his small braid, a habit Harry had begun to associate with embarrassment. "I, ah, also figured it would be better not to have a lot of observers."

Harry wondered if there was something wrong with his face – he seemed unable to pull his jaw up into its proper position from where it had fallen at Peter's initial request. "I …" It was a _very_ great honor – especially considering the pool of friends Peter already had to draw from. "No. I can't."

Peter's face fell, clearly disappointed, and he found himself rushing to reassure his greatest enemy (bar Voldemort), who had somehow managed to become one of his closest friends in _this_ time period. Somewhere, someone was laughing their ass off.

"It's not that I don't like you. I just wouldn't feel right dueling Snape if it came down to that. I duel my enemies only – and I may not _like_ Snape much, but he's certainly no enemy." He scrambled for additional justification for a moment before inspiration struck. "Besides, even if I wanted to, I couldn't. I don't have a wand."

"What happened to it?" Now _this_, to Peter, was a quite worrying development. What if something happened to Harry? He'd be defenseless!

"It just … didn't make the journey with me." Harry pulled a stick of wood out of his pocket. "And I don't think James' wand likes me all that much."

"Have you tried it?" Speaking of the wand as if it was a living object was going a bit far. For all Ollivander's talk of 'the wand chooses the wizard', in the end it was just a stick of wood, after all.

"No … I just have this feeling." Harry took a deep breath; exhaled slowly and fully. He raised the wand, and pronounced in a soft, but firm voice, "_Lumos_."

Immediately, every single light – including the fire, which Peter was almost certain had an Eternal Burning Charm on it – extinguished. From the tip of the wand flickered the slightest hint of … something. A dark violet, it would never have been visible had the rest of the room not been completely dark.

"Um … _Nox?_" Even that flickery purplish hint of light died. The spirit's voice drifted eerily through the darkness. "I _told_ you it didn't like me."

"_Lumos_." Highlighted by a respectable circle of golden light, Remus' face came into view from about halfway down the last flight of the staircase. "What's going on?"

Peter rose to his feet, gesturing towards Harry to rise as well. "Come on, you two. We've got a trip to Hogsmeade to make."

# # # # #

"I didn't know there was a wand shop in Hogsmeade." Harry mused as they walked down a mostly-dark street.

Sirius, who had come down to investigate shortly after Remus and after that invited himself along on the outing, crossed his arms. "Where else would any wandmaker in his right mind set up shop? Diagon Alley?" The three Marauders laughed.

"Well … yes." Harry answered, brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Why do you think that's funny?"

Again, the other three acted as one, this time in staring at Harry as if he was certifiably insane. "With Death Eater raids out of their hideouts in Knockturn Alley practically _daily_? Screw the Ministry and their so-called 'protection', it's a _lot_ safer up here near Dumbledore. Any store owner who hasn't realized that yet almost _deserves_ to have his store raided."

Harry blinked. "I had … never thought of it that way. Yes, I _would_ be far more inclined to trust to Dumbledore's protection than the Ministry's." He sneered. _Especially if the current minister is anything like Fudge._

"Isn't it like this where – or I guess when – you come from?" Remus asked. "If Voldemort wasn't defeated until … whatever it is that you did …"

Harry shifted uncomfortably, a clear indication to the two who knew him best in this time period that this was a subject that touched on the spirit's private life – something that he had tried his level best to keep just that, private. "Um. Not exactly. You see, when I was very young, he … went dormant for a while. Everyone believed he had died."

"I guess Diagon Alley repopulated itself sometime in the intervening period; by the time I saw it for the first time when I was eleven, it was full of people and shops of all sorts. That was the year that Voldemort first started stirring again … it was all kept rather hushed up, though. I don't think many people outside of Hogwarts knew."

"When were you born?" Sirius, bluntly asking the question the other two were too polite to.

Harry flashed a brilliant smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "That would be telling, now wouldn't it?" _Three years from now … perhaps four. No more. Oh, Dad … why couldn't you have lived up to my idealistic notion of you?_

"Harry …" Sirius again, possibly the first time he had ever said the spirit's name. "Please. The adults believe we're too young to understand, so we've been kept in the dark for the most part. I don't really even know how the war is going, other than what little makes it into the newspapers. But even we want it to be over. We're _tired._"

Harry sighed, nodded. "There are some things here that I _know_ are different, and some that I desperately hope will not turn out the same. I thought, at first, that I had just traveled into the past; now I think things are a bit more complicated than that. So I don't know for certain …"

"Any hint would be better than none at all, I think." Sirius replied; both Remus and Peter nodded silent agreement.

_Am I really going to do this?_ Harry stopped walking, closed his eyes, and nudged James awake. _:You're going to want to hear this too, I think.:_

The other three stopped as well. The silence stretched, as Harry sketched out the recent events to James very briefly. Skipping, of course, some things – like Peter's request – that he felt the older Potter didn't need to know.

Then, with a deep breath, "October 31, 1981."

"Four years …" Remus breathed.

They started walking again. "I hope not."

"Why?" Sirius flared. "It's a long time, yes, but at least after that, it will be over, and we'll have some peace."

_:Even a temporary peace would be better than this.:_ James agreed.

They reached the wand shop and Harry gestured sharply for silence. "Later."

"Now what have we here? Customers so late at night?" A breathy voice whispered. Harry stiffened at the sound, but forced himself to relax. "Come in, come in."

The inside of the shop, sharply contrasted with the boarded up windows, was filled with soft golden light. "You are the one who needs a wand, yes?" His eyes focused – as much as those rheumy orbs could be said to 'focus' – on Harry. "Another Potter, I presume? But no, those eyes … there has never been a Potter with such eyes."

"Believe me, I know all about my eyes …" Harry sighed. "Could I just get a wand, please?"

"This is not, I presume, your first wand?" At a gesture from the old man, a tape measure began measuring Harry, reminding him strongly of the first time he had stood in a shop not so different from this one.

"No."

A pause. "Well, boy? Are you going to tell me what your previous wand was, or are we just going to stand around all night?" The man grumbled. "I'm getting old and my bones are tired. Staying up all night or keeping the shop in Diagon Alley just because it's _tradition_ is all well and good for young people like my son, but …"

"Holly, phoenix feather – the second given by Fawkes – and eleven inches." Harry interrupted hastily.

"I must ask you not to lie, young man." The old man looked offended. "The Headmaster's phoenix has only given one feather, and that wand was bought long before you were born."

"Yew, thirteen-and-a-half inches." Harry rattled off from memory. "Bought … give me a second … around 1938? … by a young man who went by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Remarkable." The old man shook his head. "And quite correct."

"'Went by the name of'?" Peter asked. None of the Marauders bothered to ask why Harry would have such detailed knowledge of a 40-year-old wand in the first place.

Harry nodded. "Indeed. May I borrow your wand, seeing as I have yet to get a new one of my own?" With only the slightest of hesitations, Peter handed it over. "The answer to that question is something he showed me when I encountered … a version of him in my second year. If I can reproduce it, that is …"

Carefully, he scratched out the shape of a 'T' in the air, imagining with all his strength it becoming visible, wreathed in fire. Though at first he was afraid it had not worked, slowly the letter became visible, although instead of the fire of Tom's writing, it seemed to be made of angrily crackling violet lightning. Well … at least Peter's wand was willing to work for him … more or less. He made relatively short work of the rest of the letters, and soon 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' floated in front of the spellbound watchers.

"I know his wand so well because his hatred has dominated my life." He waved the wand, again imagining hard, and the letters reordered themselves.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle. 'I am Lord Voldemort'." Harry smirked. "Cute, isn't it?" He let the sentence lapse, returning the wand to the gaping blond. "Now. I would like to get a wand of my own, if you don't mind."

For all his bravado, Harry hadn't thought it possible that they would actually find a wand that matched him, especially when the old wandmaker had let drop that his original wand didn't exist yet. And certainly tonight's search seemed to be taking even longer than the first time; even the old man had begun to look frustrated. But finally they found one – yew, eleven inches, with a core of pure obsidian. He resented the wood, thinking of it as just one more thing that linked Voldemort and himself, but the feeling had been unmistakable.

No warm golden glow, this time, but a solid rush of power. Unadulterated power, power in its purest form … power that, Harry feared, could easily become addictive. Had Tom felt something similar the first time he touched his wand? Combined with his resentment of Muggles and his ambitious, deceptive nature – Slytherin to the core – that rush of power could very well have driven Tom over the edge into Darkness … especially encountering it at only eleven. Harry was older, better equipped to deal with it. He hoped.

"Quite a powerful wand, there." The old man had said. "One of the most powerful to pass out of my hands in, oh, quite some time." Then, much like Dumbledore tended to, he had shucked his outer covering of senility and pinned Harry with a stern Look. "I trust its power will not be misused."

Harry could still feel the aftereffects of the rush, and was attempting to expend some of the extra energy by flipping his new wand as they walked down the tunnel back towards Hogwarts. Toss. Catch. Toss. Catch. Toss …

It clattered to the ground, and he muttered something derogatory as he bent to pick it up. "Do you really think that's good for the wand?" Remus asked doubtfully.

That provoked a grin. "I know it's not. But I need to get rid of all my extra energy _somehow._ Besides, this gives it a more … used … look. It feels weird to be holding a brand new wand."

"If you have so much extra energy, why don't you start telling us why you don't think You-Know-Who being defeated four years from now is a good thing?" Sirius suggested, voice bordering on accusatory.

That suggestion on its own did the trick remarkably well, as Harry fell into a state of borderline panic and unhappy anticipation strong enough that he wondered if he was about to be sick. "I never said that Voldemort was defeated." He returned mildly, trying to hide his nervousness. _Oh Merlin … I can't do this after all …_ "Or if I did, I didn't mean to. October 31, 1981 is the day that, in my world, he suffered … a rather hefty setback."

His eyes unfocused as he began calculating again. "He first began making his presence known again in late 1991 and early 1992. And he reappeared – and was destroyed for good this time –" A look of fierce triumph that, even in the dim light, made the other three want to back away. "– June 24, 1995."

The triumph disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. "June 24." Harry whispered. The other three exchanged glances; it seemed to them that he was no longer even aware of their presence. "I will never forget you, Cedric. I promise."

Although they were all curious, no one asked the obvious question – who was this Cedric person? – as they instinctively felt that they would not like the answer.

"Well, even if he wasn't actually defeated, I think ten years of peace is still something to look forward to." Sirius' mouth set belligerently. "And you still haven't explained why it's _not_."

"Ten years of peace? When's this?" A new voice; the four boys looked up to see Lily standing by the open portrait hole, silhouetted by the dim firelight; all four a bit surprised that in their distraction they had made it all the way back to the common room already. "Dare I ask where you've been? And who you were targeting _this_ time?"

"Lily, you wrong us!" Sirius exclaimed. "We, why, we are simply _paragons_ of innocence!"

Lily raised an eyebrow. "Remus? Peter?"

"Sirius is actually right. We weren't pranking anyone." Harry interrupted, coming to his godfather's defense. "We just snuck down to Hogsmeade – I needed a new wand. Mine … didn't make the 'journey' and James' wand … er … doesn't seem to like me too much."

_:Damn straight.:_ James sounded proud.

"So _that's_ why everything went dark in the common room." Had she been a cartoon, a lightbulb would have appeared above the green-eyed girl's head (a flaming torch? What _was_ the wizarding equivalent of that particular Muggle figure of speech, anyway? A candle? Somehow, he was sure that Hermione would know …)

"Professor McGonagall and several of the other professors came by while you were out, to find out what had happened – evidently the fireplace is tied into a couple of alarms, so she came in expecting some sort of invasion."

"Oops?" Harry offered sheepishly. "I didn't _mean_ to …"

"What were you doing? Testing James' wand with _Nox_?"

"No." Harry and Peter replied simultaneously, Harry massaging his forehead. "_Lumos._"

# # # # #

_I take it back. I _really_ can't do this after all._ As they settled into a nearby group of chairs, Sirius brought Lily up to speed with a low-voiced explanation that Harry more-or-less tuned out, after which Lily had joined the others in watching him expectantly. _I'm not ready … not to become Harry Potter again._ After only, what, three days? The tag "Harry Potter" felt different, wrong; the thought of it stifled him like a too-small set of clothes. He wanted, _needed_ to remain just "Harry", if only for just a while longer.

Yet he had to say something. He had raised their hopes, excited their curiosity; he couldn't just stop now. "The ten years of peace _was_ a good thing for many people; I suppose you could even call it fourteen, since outside of Hogwarts I'm not sure anyone else even realized how close that peace was to coming to an end." He sneered, echoing his earlier thought. "Especially with someone like Fudge as Minister of Magic."

A sigh. "Peace _is_ good … but it always seems to come hand-in-hand with sacrifice. And I guess I'm selfish – all of you sacrificed much and, now that I know you, I'm not eager to see it happen all over again. Hopefully, considering the differences between your world and what I remember being told of _my_ 1978, it won't. But."

"Sacrifices?" The other four looked at each other. Being willing to sacrifice yourself for the good of all sounded perfectly good in the abstract – especially since these were, after all, Gryffindors – but _knowing_ that your sacrifice would be required? That was a different matter entirely.

"… what happened?" Peter, pale but determined to know the truth.

Harry smiled brightly at Lily. Falsely bright. "I'm sure you'll be happy, Lily, to learn that you and James got married. Right out of Hogwarts, I think I heard, although I'm afraid I don't know the exact date." Lily blushed.

"That doesn't sound so bad." Sirius objected. "Hey, Lily? Can I be best man?"

"You're asking the wrong person for that." Lily shot back. "Although I'm sure you'd make a stunning maid of honor."

_:You ruined it!: _James wailed. _:I was planning on proposing to her Christmas Day …:_ Harry opened his mouth to pass that particular intelligence along _:… and if you actually tell her that, I _will_ find a way to kill you.:_

_:Been there, done that.:_ Harry quipped, but obligingly kept his mouth shut. "Sadly, on October 31, 1981, you are killed." Immediate, dead silence. "Cheer up! At least Voldemort respected you enough that he came to take care of you personally."

"Just me?" Lily stammered. "Please tell me James was all right."

Harry shook his head. "Both of you." He turned to Remus. "Ah, Professor Lupin. Yours is the happiest tale of the lot. As far as I know, nothing more dreadful happened to you than poverty, judging by the state of your robes when you came to Hogwarts to teach DADA during my third year."

"_I_ taught you the Patronus Charm?" Remus blurted, eyes wide.

Harry grinned, the mania fading for a moment as he answered sincerely, "You were the best DADA teacher I've ever had, hands down." He made a face. "Unfortunately, Snape held a grudge over what he believed to be your part in certain … recent events … and near the end of the year just happened to let slip to some of his Slytherins certain, ah, personal information …"

"I'm afraid I don't know where you are 'now', since I lost contact with you at the end of last year."

"That _bastard_." Sirius snarled.

"And whose fault was it that he believed that?" Remus gazed levelly at his friend until the black-haired boy lowered his eyes, ashamed. "What about Sirius and Peter, Harry? You haven't mentioned either of them yet."

Harry licked his lips. "Well, their story is rather intertwined … and one of the hardest parts of the tale to tell. And one of the things that makes me really hope that this time around, things will turn out differently."

"I die too, don't I." Sirius asked quietly.

"No … although I suspect there were times when you wished for death." Harry sighed. "Lily and James weren't supposed to die when and where they did. They somehow found out ahead of time that Voldemort was after them, so they went into hiding, protected by a Secret Keeper."

Sirius blanched, and his voice was even quieter. "So I was tortured to death …"

From James, who had been in a state of more-or-less pure shock since the revelation of his death, came a wordless burst of sympathy and horror that almost swamped Harry with its intensity, surprising him. It shouldn't have, he supposed, but he had grown so used to thinking of James as the monster (albeit usually a charming one) who had been willing to watch Snape get ripped to pieces by a vicious wolf – one that was usually one of his best friends, no less – that he tended to forget the depth of loyalty to friends that James also displayed.

"Why are you so convinced you died?" Harry asked, once he recovered from James' burst of emotion. "Last time I saw you, you were hiding out in a cave near Hogsmeade. You desperately needed a shower, a shave, and some higher quality food, but you were alive and as well as could be expected."

"In hiding?" Remus was, not surprisingly, the first to catch that particular phrase. "All right, Padfoot, who did you kill?"

"No one … at least, not that I know of." Harry answered before Sirius had a chance to. "Unfortunately, most of the rest of Britain holds – will hold – him responsible for the deaths of James and Lily Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and thirteen Muggles. He was sentenced to life in Azkaban and, in the summer of 1993, became the first person in history to escape from Azkaban."

Sirius, who had passed through pale into a very ill-looking shade of green, attempted to smile. "Well, that's something, I suppose …"

"But … if Sirius wasn't responsible for the deaths of all those Muggles … and myself …" Peter licked his lips "… then who was?"

Harry just watched the boy who had once been – might someday be? – the person he hated more than anyone else – with the possible exception of his aunt, uncle, cousin, and of course Voldemort. His eyes were sad.

"Sirius was going to be James and Lily's Secret Keeper, but at the last minute they decided he would be too easy a target – he was the one everyone expected them to pick. For some reason" a brief apologetic look "they were suspicious of Remus, so they settled on the one other person they _knew_ they could trust."

"Me?" Peter's voice nearly squeaked. "So _I_ was the one tortured to death …"

Harry shook his head. "Voldemort didn't have to torture you."

Shock/horror/denial. "No." Peter whispered.

"Of course, no one – not even Dumbledore – outside of the people involved, knew of the change." Harry continued inexorably, his eyes still sad. "The morning after, you met Sirius on a street; Sirius had checked on your hiding place, found you gone, and immediately come to the right conclusion."

Peter closed his eyes. "Please, no …"

" 'James and Lily!' You cried, holding your wand behind your back as Sirius advanced on you, wand drawn. There were a few Muggles around, minding their own business. Thirteen, to be precise. 'How could you?' And then … you blew up the street."

By then, the rest of the group had realized just exactly what Peter had caught on to immediately; they all stared at Peter in a sort of fascinated horror.

"The largest piece of you ever found was your little finger; Sirius was accused of being a Death Eater, of betraying James and Lily and of blowing up that street full of innocent Muggles, and shipped off to Azkaban; not too much later the Weasley family acquired a pet for their children, a small rat with only four toes on one of his front paws."

Peter fled.

# # # # #

Someone was crying.

This was the sort of thing that Severus Snape did not ordinarily encounter; the sort of people who cried where other people might hear, loudly enough that they _could_ hear, were weeded out of Slytherin early. That was one lesson embedded in everyone who graduated from the Serpent House – _never_ show weakness.

He decided to investigate. Not out of any particular interest in calming the other down – fostering weakness just increased it, after all – or, indeed, any real care. Simply because someone crying meant that there was someone out in the halls at this time of night. Which lead inexorably to the conclusion that, once he found this unfortunate soul, he would have the opportunity to put the fear of God – or at least Slytherin prefects who really _should_ have been Head Boy, dammit! – into the child. Especially if it was a Gryffindor.

He glided up to the alcove on silent feet – a trick he had developed over the years; after all, unlike _some_ people, his family, though well enough off, was most definitely not rich enough to splurge money on unnecessary fripperies like Invisibility Cloaks.

The person in the alcove was, indeed, a Gryffindor … but certainly not one he had ever expected to see off hiding, crying alone. "What in the world happened to you, Pettigrew?"

The blond's head snapped up. "Piss off, Snape." His voice, though still somewhat watery and choked up, was otherwise admirably firm. "You wouldn't understand."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You almost succeed in making me genuinely curious. Do tell."

Moving faster than he had given the stocky boy credit for, Peter was abruptly in his face. "All right, Snape, you really want to know? Fine. I just learned tonight that I'm destined to become a Death Eater, and that, furthermore, my betrayal will, directly or indirectly, cause the deaths of James and Lily and thirteen Muggles and Sirius' incarceration in Azkaban for _life_."

"But of course," the Gryffindor spat, "you would never understand that this thought is actually abhorrent to me, as you probably wait with bated breath for the moment when you can bow before _That Man_ and kiss his feet." He was breathing hard.

Snape, on his part, found himself for once genuinely without a retort. Well, yes, he had considered joining with Voldemort – what Slytherin hadn't, at one point or another? But he certainly hadn't made any real decision yet. And to hear Pettigrew speak as if his joining the Dark Lord was a foregone conclusion … it stirred an uncomfortable feeling in him. He wasn't quite sure what, but …

"When did I say a word about destiny?" A third voice interrupted. Snape turned to see Harry, that enigma to whom he owed his life. Somehow, he was not at all surprised.

"Well, you come from the future, so you _know_ what's going to happen." Peter pointed out, much calmer now.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair. "Look. I come from _a_ future, yes. But I seriously doubt that it is _the_ future. Well, and even if it was, it's not anymore. Even putting aside the fact that I believe that Destiny is a crock of bull and _can_ be changed, if you put enough effort into it, this is different from what I know of _my_ past."

He gestured towards Snape. "Here is a prime example, actually. In _my_ past, Sirius told Snape how to get into the passage under the Whomping Willow. Snape managed to make it in and, in fact, got almost to the Shrieking Shack – close enough to _see_ Remus – before James, reconsidering their potentially destructive _prank_" he said the last word as scathingly as either had heard him speak "pulled him out and away just in time, saving his life."

"Oh, ew." Snape was surprised into that exclamation which he'd normally find far beneath him. "Owing a wizard's debt to _Potter_ …"

"And you persisted in believing that Remus was a part of the _prank_, so you nursed your hatred of him as well – above and beyond this stupid school-boy quarrel – for over twenty years."

"'Stupid school-boy quarrel'?" Peter and Snape chorused indignantly, for once in complete accord.

"Stupid school-boy quarrel." Harry confirmed. "Don't bother to make all your protestations of undying hatred – I've been there and done that already with _my_ nemesis." He laced his fingers together behind his head. "I find, however, that death has given me something of a new perspective on the situation."

"Oh, and Peter? Snape might understand you better than you think." Harry eyed the dark-haired Slytherin, an unreadable look in his eyes. "Yes, in my time, he is a Death Eater, but I also have reason – _good_ reason, I think – to believe that he may be a spy for the Light."

"But I don't want to be a Death Eater at _all_." Peter protested, though he snuck glances at the Slytherin, trying to process the information that his nemesis might not be so bad after all.

"Then don't." Harry replied shortly. "I've already told you that my future may not necessarily be yours; so no one's saying you have to be a Death Eater – unless, at some later date, you decide you want to. In fact, I would rather prefer it if you weren't."

He drew himself up. "Barring the fact that I may very well die again or disappear or something before it even comes into consideration, if you were to become a Death Eater the day might come when I found myself forced to try my hardest to kill you. And you've become a friend, no matter that I at first tried my hardest to despise you. I don't want to have to kill a friend or die trying."

He withdrew, talking more to himself now than to either of the other occupants of the otherwise silent hall. "I don't want anyone else to die … yet, in some ways, I'm still glad that I came back here, to this war-torn time, instead of remaining in my own, which is hopefully now at peace. There, I would have no purpose; my reason for existence died when I succeeded in defeating Voldemort."

Snape, who had not heard _that_ facet of the story before, stared at Harry, eyes wide. This child, this fragile looking boy who looked no older than twelve, _he_ had accomplished what (most likely) even Dumbledore could not? Looking back, he would always say that that was when he had finally decided once and for all that the life of a Death Eater was not for him, after all.

Blood and pain had never really been his sort of thing, anyway – he preferred the calm, cool peace of the dungeons and the subtle intricacies of brewing potions. The only thing that had really attracted him to joining the Dark Lord in the first place was the possible power and knowledge to be found.

But power could be found – or made – elsewhere than under the Dark Lord's rule. And even less so than Peter did he want to find himself facing, not only the boy who had apparently defeated Voldemort, but also the boy to whom he owed his life.

If not quite in the Gryffindor way, Slytherins had their own brand of honor. To have one's life saved put that person in their saviour's debt; there was no greater debt, in fact, that Snape could think of, than this. Were they to face each other on a field of battle, he would die rather than kill the one who had saved his life. This was no vow, but a simple fact of life.

_::Mother?::_ With his observational powers honed by nearly six and a half years of surviving Slytherin, Snape noted how Harry stiffened, though he could see no particular reason why; they had been standing in silence, each ruminating on his own individual thoughts, for several minutes now.

_::Mother, I'm hungry …::_ 'I'm hungry'. A sentiment that a twelve-year-old Harry Potter had translated as '_Kill'_. The plea stirred up unexpected feelings of sympathy.

Then Harry realized exactly what the fact that he could hear those words being spoken meant. That even now, if he listened hard enough, he could almost hear a dry slithery sound somewhere deep within the wall to his left.

"Oh shit."

2 March 2003  
27 August 2011  
28 August 2012


	5. Chapter 5

Well, this chapter came out faster than I expected …

My deepest apologies to those of you who hate cliffhangers. I think I'm addicted … ^^;;

And of course, as always, Harry Potter _still_ doesn't belong to me.

(11/26/2012 – Minor edits and fixing the punctuation)

# # # Chapter 5 # # #

Albus Dumbledore slept lightly. It was a habit he acquired as a young man, when he enlisted in the British Army shortly after graduating from Hogwarts. He hadn't stayed long; just long enough to instill in him the habit of sleeping lightly and whenever the opportunity presented itself, a habit that had come in handy just frequently enough in the intervening years that he had never tried terribly seriously to break it.

When he had inherited the headmaster's office, it had surprised him just how numerous and how elaborate the wards were – not just the proximity wards that served as a substitute for a door knocker, or protection wards for the former headmasters' paintings and the more valuable of the baubles, but also misdirection wards to keep intruders' attention off certain baubles entirely, and even entirely frivolous things like the permanent stay-fresh charm on what would become his favorite candy bowl. Less surprisingly, many of these wards – particularly the most important ones – had been tied directly to alarms that went off in his sleeping chambers. The first time a student snuck into the office after he became headmaster, the cacophony had almost deafened him; after that experience he had made a point of turning the volume down considerably, knowing that even quiet noises, if unexpected, were usually more than sufficient to wake him.

The alarm that woke him this night was one of the softest – his office had been invaded by someone the wards were not keyed to, but the person in question had not yet touched anything. For nearly a full minute, he lay awake and unmoving, weighing whether it was truly worth it to leave his comfortable bed for what was probably the result of some childish dare. Unsurprisingly, curiosity eventually won out, and he climbed out of bed and up through the secret passage to the upper, hidden entrance to his office.

At first, he saw no one. But then, just as he was on the verge of deciding that perhaps the alarm had misfired, a small movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention. Yet, looking at it directly, he still saw nothing. Suspicion growing, he blinked a few times, and then with that curious trick of focus, finally convinced his eyes to see what had been there all along – a small figure hidden beneath an Invisibility Cloak. As he watched, the figure padded off to the side of Albus' desk and began to stroke Fawkes; after a brief moment of surprise the bird settled back down, to the amazement of the Headmaster – he _knew_ how untrusting Fawkes could be.

After a few more minutes cooing over Fawkes, as Albus up above weighed whether to go down and confront the intruder or just stay in his current position and continue watching, the figure reluctantly broke away and approached the desk. As he approached, Albus was able to guess at a few things – his trick of seeing through Invisibility Cloaks was extremely useful for getting a sense of presence, but typically not accurate enough to actually identify the person hidden. Particularly not in the dark. Still, with only three students in the entire school who owned Invisibility Cloaks, the short dark hair he thought he saw could mean only one person.

Yet this invader was far too small to be James Potter, nor had he ever seen Fawkes act so friendly towards the current Head Boy.

The boy who was not James dropped … _something_ … on the desk, turned, and left as quietly as he had come. Curiosity burning even higher – it was a pretty rare student who could resist even a little poking around at all the knick-knacks – as soon as the student was gone, Albus moved down to his desk, picking up what the intruder had left: a small strip of parchment with a single sentence written on it.

Yet, this one sentence was enough to make his blood run cold, even as he began speculating even more furiously about the identity and motivations of this student. Yes, one simple sentence that he had hoped never to see again.

_The Chamber of Secrets has been reopened._

# # # # #

Classes had ended long enough ago that most students had dispersed back to their common rooms or other similar areas; of the few out and about, fewer still happened upon this particular hallway. However, those chosen few, upon reaching this stretch of corridor, to a man turned and walked away again. All fairly certain that they were hallucinating, but none in any particular mood to find out.

After all, just because Severus Snape and Peter Pettigrew, well-known even to the first years to have a bitter rivalry, _appeared_ to be holding a civil conversation _now_ held no guarantee that the situation wouldn't explode momentarily.

Better not to take the chance.

The two conversation partners, on the other hand, remained unaware of the effect they were having, being far more concerned with the conversation itself. "Do you have any idea what last night was all about?" The Slytherin asked.

Peter shook his head. "Harry just … completely clammed up – well, as you saw. He stayed like that even once we were back in the common room. And I asked James this morning; he claims he heard nothing – except maybe some sort of vague rustling sound."

Snape looked both frustrated, and like he was trying to hide it. "Well, that's more than I knew before. You're _sure_ he didn't say anything else? If there's some sort of crisis coming …"

Peter tilted his head back. "Harry is … I get the feeling that he's very self-sufficient, but not suicidally so." Then again, he had died as a result of taking on the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries … "… Er, not usually? Anyway, I think that if he thought we could help – or if he thought he needed help – with whatever it is, he would ask."

Snape smiled slightly. "Yes … he would make a good Slytherin …" he shook his head. "Well, thanks for the information."

"Goodness knows why, but you seem to be as much a friend of Harry's as the rest of us … and if he's willing to trust you, I suppose I can hardly do less. In this case." An aborted movement, as if Peter had been about to offer his hand but, at the last minute, decided against it. "For Harry's sake."

"For Harry's sake." Snape agreed curtly. "See you tonight, then." He inclined his head and walked away.

_Tonight …_

# # # # #

"No second?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "My, I'm pleasantly surprised."

Peter twisted his braid around a finger, a rueful look on his face. "I asked Harry. He refused. Something about not dueling people who weren't his enemies."

_Just as well … _Snape thought. _If Harry _had_ been Pettigrew's second, I probably would have had to yield. I certainly won't fight him … _"I see. Shall we begin?"

They turned away from each other, paced ten paces, and turned, in ready position. "Don't hurt each other too badly, please." The north wall said. Concentration broken, both turned in that direction to see Harry pulling the Invisibility Cloak off, folding it over his arm. Peter opened his mouth. "No, Peter, I haven't changed my mind." He pursed his lips. "I thought I'd … keep watch, so to speak. I won't interfere, I probably won't be watching the entire match, but I may be in the general area."

He looked from one to the other. "I'd rather not see either one of you land in the Hospital Wing, but … far be it from me to interfere. Well … see you later." The cloak swirled him back into invisibility even as he rounded the corner, leaving the two combatants silent and still.

"Did I hear hints of 'stupid school-boy rivalry' in his 'far be it from me to interfere'?" Peter finally asked, eyes alight with humor.

"It would not at all surprise me." Snape noted, allowing a small half-smile to grace his face. "He does seem to feel rather strongly about the subject."

"Maybe because of what he saw our rivalry do to Remus in his world." Peter suggested, sobering as he recalled all he had learned the previous night.

Snape twitched slightly at the mention of the werewolf, and his face turned entirely expressionless. "What … did happen?" The duel seemed the furthest thing from either of their minds, now.

"If I remember correctly, Remus got hired as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher here in Harry's third year."

Snape pursed his lips. "A werewolf … well, I assume Dumbledore knew what he was doing. I don't _think_ he'd knowingly endanger the students …" He shook his head. "Sorry. Continue."

"He had to resign at the end of the year because you let slip to the Slytherins – I think you're the Slytherin Head of House, by the way, though I don't know exactly what you teach – that he was. A werewolf, that is. Because you blamed him for what … happened."

"Potions, probably." He murmured; that and DADA _were_ his favorite subjects and the ones he was best at, so if _Lupin_ had gotten the DADA position … then the rest of the statement caught up to him. "I wouldn't do that!" He protested involuntarily. "Not even to _Potter_!" _… Probably._

Still, he remembered one of the first things Harry had said to him. _'Please don't tell anyone,' _he had pled._ 'If not for James and Sirius' sake, then for Remus'. He had no idea that the other two were planning … this.'_

_He knew, _Snape realized,_ even then, he was trying to right a wrong that he had seen done in his time … ah, Harry, it seems now I have even more to thank you for …_

"… oddly enough, I believe you." Peter shook his head. "Harry has changed so much … it seems hard, now, to believe that he once _wasn't_ around."

Snape snorted. "_You've_ changed … if my roommates realized that I'm capable of carrying on even as civil a conversation as _this_ with a _Gryffindor_ …"

The Gryffindor in question laughed. "They'd probably excommunicate me!"

A slightly larger half-smile this time, tinted with wryness. "Quite."

Snape absently holstered his wand – it was obvious it wouldn't be needed immediately, and he was getting tired of holding it. _And I doubt he'd take advantage of the opening. He's a Gryffindor, after all._ "It's clear you know more about Harry's time than me. What did he tell you?"

"It was clear there was still a lot he was hiding, but he did let some slip." Quickly, Peter outlined what the spirit had told them the night before. "I'm afraid I wasn't quite in the right frame of mind to think to ask questions about the status of society as a whole."

Snape's face had gone mostly unreadable again; at least he wasn't rubbing his contempt at Peter's easily excitable emotions in his face. "Regrettable, but understandable, considering what you _did_ learn." A frown. "Still, even that much says something … unsettling … about that society."

"Consider: I seem to have held a fairly constant position in Harry's life; if I had only entered it briefly, as Lupin did, he probably would have said as much, instead of acting more like it was a given that I was around." His eyebrows drew together. "Whatever position I was in, I shouldn't have been there if all was right."

"Dumbledore hiring a Death Eater …" Peter nodded slowly. "Your true allegiance aside, he probably _wouldn't_ have hired you if there had been a … cleaner … choice. Imagine how much of an uproar the parents would raise if they found out!"

"And then hiring _Lupin_ …" Snape shook his head. "He'd probably make a pretty good teacher, but I don't care _how_ safe twenty-odd years will have made werewolves. You just _don't_ keep something that grows sharp claws and teeth and goes furry once a month near children."

"Especially not if there are any better choices – as there ought to be, in a society at least nominally at peace. No one _knew_ that the Dark Lord would return after he disappeared, so why _weren't_ there any better choices?"

"We only know about his third year." Peter pointed out, uncomfortable that he couldn't quite summon up the arguments necessary to refute Snape's comments about Remus.

It was _wrong_ to judge someone just because they got bitten by the wrong sort of creature when they were six years old. Remus _would_ make a good teacher, if someone was willing to give him the chance. And his lycanthropy shouldn't keep him from it.

Yet Peter also knew that society didn't think that way. If there had been 'cleaner' choices, Remus would never have had a chance, no matter, as Snape had put it, how safe twenty-odd more years of progress made werewolves. The stigma would still be there, so Snape's argument _was_ valid in the context of their society, no matter how much he hated to admit it.

"Perhaps his DADA professors in the other years _were_ … er … 'cleaner'."

A laugh from out of nowhere as Harry rounded the corner, pulling off the cloak. "Sorry, I couldn't help but hear that last remark. When I said that Remus was my best DADA professor, I _meant_ it."

"Not only did the teacher in my first year have a stutter and an extreme fear of his own shadow, he was possessed by Voldemort's spirit."

"In my second year, everyone was terribly excited. We would be taught by a _celebrity_" a word imbued with scorn, but a scorn that seemed to go deeper than just his dislike for the person in question "who had written dozens of books about his exploits." A dangerous pause. "Not only was he the most _self-centered, arrogant bastard_ I have ever had the displeasure to meet, he didn't even have any _real _experience –his books were written about the exploits of _other_ people, who he then subsequently obliviated."

A self-satisfied smirk. "I believe he's at St. Mungo's now –he tried to obliviate us with my friend Ron's wand, which had been broken at the beginning of the year, and ended up getting blasted himself."

"Third year was Remus, of course – and you already know how that ended."

"Fourth year might very well have given Remus a run for his money – we were taught by a retired Auror; he taught us about the Unforgivables among other things."

"Is that even _allowed_?" Peter yelped.

"So what was wrong with _him_?" Snape asked.

"Nothing …" Harry trailed off as his eyes hit Snape's face and two snippets of memory came floating back.

First, Voldemort. Three missing people … a coward, a traitor, and one who had already reentered his service.

Then, that day in Potions, when Karkaroff had rushed in, trying to show Snape something on his arm, talking about how 'it' was 'coming back'.

"Snape, do you know where Voldemort puts the Dark Mark?" Left arm. It had been something on his left forearm.

The Slytherin blinked. "I … don't know. I hadn't decided yet, so no one has let me in on any truly sensitive information …" He trailed off. "In previous years, I saw some of the older ones – the ones that I'm pretty sure _are_ Death Eaters – holding hushed conferences and showing each other their arms …"

Harry nodded slowly. "It makes sense. It all makes sense …"

'The traitor: Professor Snape. Somehow, he must have found out." Snape seemed inclined to protest being labeled a 'traitor' until he remembered who he was being referred to as a betrayer of.

"The coward: Igor Karkaroff. Especially if he did run, as he seemed likely to."

Harry began to pace, still thinking furiously. "And the inside operative … the only prominent, new person at Hogwarts … was Moody?" He shook his head. "But how? Moody was an extremely famous Auror, famous especially for not believing in mercy of any kind towards Death Eaters, whatever their age, whether or not they turned back to the Light. He would never have been one himself."

Pace, pace. Stop, as his entire body went rigid. "Of _course_! Polyjuice Potion! He only ever drank from that hip flask of his … and he usually drank at least once or twice during our class – of course he'd have had to, because it was more than an hour long."

"Now, the only question is, who was he really?" Harry kicked at the floor. "This is one of those times I really wish I _hadn't_ died. I just have to hope that _someone_ figured it out in time …"

"… I can see now why a werewolf might actually be a step up." Snape noted dryly.

"So are you not dueling after all?" Harry asked happily. "Splendid. What changed your mind?"

"Talking about you was _far_ more interesting." Peter said impishly.

Snape just shrugged. "Not worth the effort." _Besides,_ he added inwardly, _hurting Pettigrew would hurt Harry, and that is something I have sworn not to do. I would not have yielded this duel of my own free will, but now that the opportunity has appeared, _I_ certainly won't insist on continuing … _

He pointedly neglected to look closely at that tiny part of himself that, because of their recent conversations, had begun to look at the blond Gryffindor as a decent conversational companion, someone worth not hurting in his own right.

# # # # #

"Albus?"

The Headmaster looked up from his desk, surprise passing only briefly across his face. "Filius? What brings you here?"

The young Charms instructor entered the office proper, hesitance lingering in his eyes. "Well … you mentioned yesterday that we should be on the lookout for anything … unusual. And, well, this really isn't anything major … but it was rather unusual … so I thought I'd err on the side of caution." He passed a roll of parchment across the desk. "Read it, please."

Now rather puzzled as well as curious, Albus unrolled it and began reading. It was, as he had expected, an essay from Filius' Charms class – one on the Patronus Charm, which made it a seventh-year essay. The top inch of parchment – where the student's name was no doubt written – had been quite intentionally folded over and creased. So, for some reason, Filius did not want him to know just _which _seventh-year just yet.

A _very_ well-thought-out seventh-year essay, despite the occasional grammatical inconsistencies. Not only did it examine the charm, its incantation and uses, but it went quite in-depth, providing information that could almost only have been gained firsthand. Including a few speculations that he privately agreed with, but were still seen in the larger magical community as highly controversial.

"_The Patronus requires more than just an incantation and a happy memory. It also requires a great deal of willpower and a sincere wish for the Patronus to appear. If a person holds back, if even one tiny portion of them does not want the Patronus to appear, then it won't, no matter _how_ happy the memory involved."_

He read on, fascinated. As he read, he formulated hypotheses. A Ravenclaw, almost certainly, although _where_ they had received the necessary experience … perhaps young Remus Lupin; Charms might not be his best subject, but considering how high _all_ his grades were, that was not necessarily saying all that much … Not to mention that the Patronus _was_ a good Defense charm, and young Remus was _the_ best DADA student in his year, hands down.

"Well?" Filius asked.

"It's … brilliant. A bit more polish, and it would be the sort of article that several magazines I can think of would be happy to print. Whose is it? Mr. Lupin?"

Surprisingly, Filius shook his head. "No, actually. Mr. Lupin's essay was quite good, and Mr. Pettigrew's rather better than his usual fare as well – I suspect they were working together. They also had hints of personal experience, but it was secondhand; it is my guess that both Mr. Lupin and Mr. Pettigrew were working with _him_." A nod towards the essay.

Lupin being willing to work with one other, much less two, was unusual in and of itself. The young werewolf was a bit too standoffish for his own good at times, Dumbledore sometimes thought. He folded up the flap that had been hiding the name.

And stared.

_James Potter?_

# # # # #

"I'm bored."

_:You could get ahead on your homework. So _I_ don't get saddled with it all, as I seem to have lately …:_

_:Not _all_ of it …:_ James protested weakly. _:Just Charms and DADA …:_

_:Just your worst class and the assignment that actually required research, you mean.:_ Despite the words, the tone was not particularly harsh. Though he'd prefer not to have any, of course, Harry found he didn't particularly mind the homework that had been thrown his way recently. So far. He couldn't guarantee that that would always be the case – especially when they started covering _real_ seventh-year stuff, stuff that he didn't have the background to even begin to understand, much less do.

But what he had done so far had been grounding, in a weird way. Sitting there, working with Remus and Peter, he could almost imagine that he was back with Ron and Hermione. Except with less bickering. Besides, having homework was a guaranteed method of putting James to sleep as quickly and painlessly as possible. _Definitely_ a good thing, what with the investigating he wanted to do … soon, before it was too late …

Rays from the sun through a nearby window struck James' eyes and Harry winced sympathetically. As always, the sun's coming through that particular window signified that sunset would be coming soon. _:Well, if you have anything you want done, you might want to go ahead and do it soon.:_

_:Do you think we could get you a body of your own in that period of time?:_ James suggested facetiously.

_A body of my own … _Harry sighed inwardly. It would make things _so_ much easier if he didn't always have to wait until James fell asleep to get anything important done. _:If only …:_ But how? No, exorcism was the clear choice. Perhaps this time he would become a _proper _ghost …

"Mr. Potter?" Harry started, though James did not, at the sound of Professor McGonagall's voice. He had been more deeply involved in his thoughts than he had realized, evidently – the professor stood only a few feet away. He should have noticed her before she spoke. "The Headmaster would like to speak with you."

Had he been the one in control, Harry would have bitten his lip. Too close … _:Cross your fingers and hope that this will be a short meeting … unless you're thinking about telling Dumbledore now?:_

He could almost hear the rusty gears cranking in the elder Potter's mind. _:Might as well. Seems pretty obvious by now that you're probably not going to leave on your own …:_

_:Believe me, I would if I could. If I knew how. So that's what was holding you back … I had wondered…:_

On Harry's part, the decision not to suggest going to Dumbledore had been less deliberate and more of a habit. Seeing the Headmaster was an event reserved for when he was called, as soon as he recovered from whatever annual death-defying act he had managed to survive _this_ time, and when his scar hurt. Anything 'less' was automatically classified as not worth the Headmaster's time and energy. (And apparently, he considered turning into some sort of ghost-like being who was possessing his father 20 years in the past to be 'less'…)

"Mr. Potter?" Their internal dialogue, short as it had been, still had evidently taken longer than it had seemed; Professor McGonagall was beginning to look impatient.

"Sorry. Got a bit distracted." James stood and flashed what Harry had dubbed as his 'charming' smile. "Lead on, my good Professor."

The professor and Head Boy were about halfway to the Headmaster's office when someone crashed into James. Harry caught a confused impression of blond hair, pale skin, and a high-pitched voice with certain cultured overtones that sounded scarily familiar, hurriedly apologizing, "Sorry Professor, Head Boy, I'm really _really_ sorry I bumped into you, butI'mkindofinahurryrightnowsobye ," before careening onward.

Belatedly, all the impressions connected in Harry's mind. _:Malfoy?:_ He yelped.

_:Oh, did you know him?:_ James asked absently.

_:Please tell me that was not Lucius Malfoy … because for someone _that much _younger than you to have a son my age in twenty-odd years is just … wrong.:_

_:No … that was Claudius Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy,:_ There was a great deal of distaste in James' mental voice for the elder Malfoy scion – finally something the two agreed wholeheartedly on _:is his father. He's a third-year, I think. Ravenclaw?:_

_:Really …:_ Harry was surprised. Sure, the Malfoy child's _(Claudius? How had he not known that Malfoy had an older brother?)_ actions had been quite un-Slytherin – not only careening down the halls in a very undignified manner, but then actually bothering to apologize! – but still … _:A Malfoy not in Slytherin … I thought I'd never see the day …:_

And, privately, with the strongest barrier up that he could make to guard his thoughts from James, _A Malfoy here. Perhaps the diary …_

_But … surely no one would do that to their own son! Not even Lucius Malfoy!_

_Surely …_

# # # # #

"If you would not mind, Mr. Potter, could you please tell me under what circumstances you learned the Patronus Charm?" The old man, not noticeably younger than the last time Harry had seen him, retained his trademark genial smile and twinkling eyes … yet the trappings of senility rested less comfortably, leaving Harry far more aware, and wary, than normal of the power – both magical and otherwise – that the old man held.

James blinked. "Er … Professor Flitwick has been teaching us _about _it in Charms recently …"

_:Oh crud. It's the essay:_ Harry moaned. _:I _knew_ I should have just stuck to the information in the books …:_

_:Oh, come on. It can't have been that bad. Even if it was, I doubt Flitwick could have told the difference.:_

_:Not too bad. Too _good_. Too much information that can only be gained from personal experience, which it sounds like you don't have. You should probably begin making your excuses about 'your-friend-Harry' now …:_

James' eyes narrowed. Okay, that was going a bit far. He knew he was not the greatest at Charms – to be entirely honest, he tended to compound his lack of natural aptitude with a lack of willingness to put any effort into it – but that a _fourth-year_ would know more than he did …!

Dumbledore's smile became slightly less genial – from any other professor, it would have been a disappointed frown. "Mr. Potter, I would ask that you please not evade the question. This" he rested his hand on a piece of parchment that lay on his desk "is work that is not only far beyond your usual performance at Charms, but that requires a great deal of personal experience … experience that you seem to be implying that you could not possibly have."

James sighed. Apparently, said fourth-year was also right. "That's because I didn't write the essay." He muttered, only barely loud enough for Dumbledore to hear.

The Headmaster looked shocked. To hear the _Head Boy_ admitting point blank that he let someone else do his homework for him …

"I put it off until Thursday night, you see." James continued, a tidbit that was unsurprising but also not seemingly terribly pertinent to the conversation. "But I had forgotten that I wouldn't be available after sunset … so I had to let Harry do it for me."

"Harry?"

"Harry is … a spirit of some sort. I don't know that we've figured out exactly what he is yet. Wednesday night he … possessed me. After that" grimace "_episode_, I woke up the next morning with control of my own body back, but then that evening we switched again. So as far as we can tell we've got some sort of strange timeshare going on. I get the days …"

The last rays of sun through the window winked out as though on cue; James staggered and shrunk, to be replaced by a much smaller, skinnier boy with brilliant green eyes. "… and I get the nights. Good evening, Professor Dumbledore."

"_You're _Harry?" Dumbledore eyed the boy doubtfully. "How old are you? Twelve? Thirteen?" If there was anything less believable than James Potter writing that essay on the Patronus, it instead having been written by a boy this young – and a spirit at that – certainly qualified.

The boy frowned, and with a bit of an edge to his voice said, "Yes, I know I'm short. You don't have to rub it in. I'm fourteen, if you actually want to know." He blinked. "_Although_ … I seem to have skipped over my birthday … so does that mean that I'm actually fifteen now …?"

The boy seemed entirely ready to drift off on that (admittedly rather intriguing) tangent, so Dumbledore quickly redirected the conversation. "From the way Mr. Potter was speaking, I was expecting someone a bit … older. I am expected to believe that you wrote this?" Again his hand rested on the parchment. "No school I know of teaches the Patronus before sixth year at the earliest – some don't teach it at all."

"My school didn't teach it. My DADA instructor did. He gave me private lessons last year … or I guess it's the year before last, now." In many ways, skipping from the end of June to early November had actually thrown him off more than the fact that he had also returned eighteen years into the past and (probably) switched dimensions. A blink. "Or, alternately, roughly sixteen years from now …" If he was planning on gaining Dumbledore's help, he was sure he'd have to reveal more about himself than he really wanted to, so might as well get started early. Though hopefully he would at least be able to hide the full extent of his 'relationship' with Voldemort … he still wasn't ready.

"You are … from the future." This was the final proof to something Harry had long suspected. There was no way, if he hadn't known about Harry in the first place, that he could have known that Harry was from the future. Dumbledore's famous act of seeming to know everything was just that – an act. He knew a lot, certainly, but even when he didn't, he just used equal parts deductive reasoning and not _showing_ his surprise to make it seem like he had known all along.

Nice little trick, that. "Yes … and no. I am from _a_ future. I sincerely hope, and am almost certain, that it is not _this_ future."

"It won't be." A new voice; both turned.

Sirius and Lily lingered near the doorway as Remus, Peter, and Snape stepped forward. It was the last who had spoken. "I owe _you_ that debt now."

"Even if we were originally different … which I like to think some of us were … you have changed us even more, just with your presence." Remus stood tall, and in the lamplight his golden eyes almost seemed to glow.

"I won't _let_ what happened, happen." The stocky blond was perhaps the fiercest of them all.

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "How many know about you, Mr. …" He was obviously fishing for a last name; the others leaned forward eagerly as well.

Harry's green eyes glinted. "Harry." He said firmly. Then, more quietly, "… I'm still not ready to be him again. Not yet …" _Harry Potter may not be the celebrity he is in my time … but I don't want to deal with being James and Lily's son, either. Especially now that they know how they died … because eventually the question would come up as to how I Lived. _

He shook his head and answered the question that had been asked outright. "All those in this room and one of Lily's friends. Er … Erica?" If Lily was a satellite of sorts to the Marauders, Erica Brown was a satellite of Lily's – from what he had seen, she spent most of her time with one or the other, but generally not both. Since that first night he had actually transformed from James to himself, he honestly could not recall reencountering the other girl, other than the occasional brief glimpse at a distance or from across the common room.

"Forgive an old man his curiosity, but although I am not surprised that the rest of James' group knew, how did young Mr. Snape, here, find out?"

"When I first appeared Wednesday night, Snape was the first person I encountered – besides James, of course." He glossed over the details for everyone's sake and, though Snape shot him a quick look – probably wanting to know why he wasn't proclaiming the fact that he had saved the Slytherin's life far and wide – no one else volunteered any further information. "He knew immediately that I was not James."

Snape snorted. "Potter may be skinny, but he's not quite _that_ skeletal. You're a _lot_ lighter."

"Hey! I eat a _lot_ during the school year!" Harry protested. "I am _not_ skeletal!"

"… and shorter …" Snape mused, enjoying this chance to provoke the boy to whom he owed his life.

"Oi!" Now Harry looked really offended. "That is _so_ not fair! I bet I would have grown at least a foot next year had I survived." He glared at the ceiling. "Man … it figures that I would die _before_ my growth spurt hit. To be short for eternity … this sucks."

For the first time hearing the information stated so baldly, Snape began considering the ramifications of owing a life-debt to someone who was already dead. Interesting little logic puzzle, that …

"Which actually brings me to my question. Do you know any way to get me out of here? Both James and I are getting kinda tired of me possessing him … and I figure that if I'm supposed to start on an eternity of … whatever will actually end up happening … I might as well _get_ started. No point in delaying it any further."

He cocked his head. "What was it you told me that time? 'To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure'." A shy grin. "I can't claim to have the best-organized mind in the world, but it has certainly been an adventure so far. I might as well see to where it leads me next."

_Oh, I like it. I'll have to remember that one … _"I imagine that I can find someone skilled at exorcism fairly quickly." Dumbledore replied after some thought. Four people sprang to mind immediately, but all had fairly busy schedules or other commitments. "But first … I would like to know, how did you die? Was it Voldemort?"

Harry pursed his lips. "In a way." He conceded. Dumbledore was surprised – partly at the fact that Voldemort was _not_, evidently, the sole cause of the boy's death, yet still cause enough to merit an 'in a way', but mostly at the way Harry had not flinched even the slightest bit when that name was said.

"I died dueling him, after all …" _Who _is_ this boy, that Voldemort would deign to duel personally?_ "… but it was _my_ curse, not his, that took my life." He stared off into space, the wand with a rare core of obsidian held tight to his chest, the power thrumming through it an obscure comfort against the memories of that night.

Remus frowned. "I don't think you ever _did_ tell us what the curse was that you used."

Harry looked at Dumbledore. Would he really be forced to answer this as well? The Headmaster nodded slowly, a familiar look of determination in his face. The fourth-year's shoulders slumped and he turned slowly to Snape. "Sirius once told me that you had a seventh-year's knowledge of dark curses when you first entered Hogwarts. Would you explain it to everyone else, please?"

Distracted from glaring at the black-haired Marauder mentioned (and trying to figure out whether he ought to feel complimented or insulted …), Snape nodded. "If I know it."

"Aside from Dumbledore, I hope you're the only one who does. It's _not_ a nice spell." He took a deep breath, let it out fully, and, in a quiet voice that nevertheless carried to every ear in the room, said sadly, "_Kawo Kedavre._"

The crash of Dumbledore's chair as it fell to the ground when the old man suddenly stood almost completely drowned out Snape's gasp. Nothing, however, could hide the sudden excessive pallor to his already sallow face.

When after several tries, Snape's voice returned, it was as a squeak. Still, in the silent room, he was quite easily audible.

"_You cast the Soul Shredding Curse?_"

14 March 2003  
6 September 2011  
5 September 2012


	6. Chapter 6

No, Harry Potter still doesn't belong to me.

(4/20/2005: A few small changes - mainly just the shifting of the A/N rant to chapter 1.)

(11/26/2012: Minor edits and quotation mark / spacing updates)

# # # Chapter 6 # # #

Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry noted that Sirius had moved to cover the door and Lily had shifted closer to him; both they and Snape had their wands out, though after a moment Snape put his away, gazing steadily back at Harry with an odd look in his eyes. _ Huh. If a life debt to my father was enough to make him do his best to protect me for four years, I suppose it's no surprise that a life debt to me, personally, would engender that level of … trust? Fatalism?_

The only part of Peter that had moved was his face – suffused now with determination. Determination … for _Harry's_ sake. Somehow, Harry realized, Peter had decided that he was worth protecting, if ever he needed that protection. How odd, that he'd find so staunch a friend in one who had once been so great an enemy … it showed him again just how different Peter was from his older counterpart.

Remus' face was a study in contradictions – it was evident that he, too, had recognized the spell – and his hand hovered over his wand pocket. After a long moment, he let it fall, empty, back to his side. "Please tell me," a quirky smile appeared on his face, "that I didn't teach _that_ to you, too."

Silently, Harry thanked Remus for breaking the increasingly uncomfortable silence, as he replied with a laugh, "No, of course not." Snape, he saw, looked vaguely guilty – which meant, Harry thought, that he had probably learned the details of what had happened to Remus at the end of Harry's third year. Had Peter told him?

Dumbledore's eyes no longer twinkled, and under that stern gaze he felt he ought to be quailing far more than he was. Instead, he felt calm; safe even. Part of that could be attributed to the reappearance of his 'snake' side, which formed an icy shield between him and reality; part, but not all.

Finally, he pinpointed the source of that extra … protection of sorts. _:Why?:_ He asked the presence in the back of his head, confused.

_:For once, you were thinking rather loudly. Some of it has given me a great deal to think about. And, well …:_ A pause, and a sense of … embarrassment was the closest Harry could come to putting a name to the emotion. _:I still don't like you much. But you're not evil.:_

_:Despite the fact that I used one of the Darkest curses in existence?:_

Harry wasn't sure if James also recognized the curse, though he had expected it from Snape and wasn't terribly surprised that Remus had also recognized it.

_:You also used it against one of the Darkest wizards in our lifetime. You _ended the war_, Harry. Excuse me if I don't argue too strongly with your methods.:_

_:Not unexpectedly: _Harry mused, still gazing directly at Dumbledore's icy, suspicious eyes, _:there will always be those who will.:_ Given his opinion of the older boy, it considerably surprised Harry how much better he felt after gaining his father's approval, more or less, of his methods. Why? What little he knew of James now, he had a tendency not to like, so why was it that his approval evidently meant so much?

"Give me a reason why I should not have you sent to Azkaban right now." Contrary to his harsh words, the Headmaster had not yet moved to take his wand out, nor to take Harry's away. One only had to look into his eyes, though, to know he meant business.

"Because you'd also be consigning James to that horrible place." Harry answered immediately with the first objection that came to mind. "He'll be the first to agree that neither of us likes the other much, but no one deserves to be locked up in that place – especially not if they're innocent."

Sirius shuddered and, despite himself, relaxed slightly. He still recalled, very clearly, the odd smirk on Harry's face when he revealed to them Voldemort's original name. How could a fourth-year _know_ that sort of thing, unless he had some sort of contact with the Dark? The fact that he knew – from Snape and Dumbledore's reactions – an evidently _very_ Dark curse seemed only to prove his point.

Yet … to heck with it. He couldn't believe wholly evil anyone who wanted to keep James from having to experience Azkaban. Even if it was only as an excuse to keep himself out as well. Especially after learning that that was where he might end up in a few years, Sirius liked the thought of Azkaban even less than he had previously – especially where any of his friends were involved.

"Besides, I'm already dead. All you need to do is exorcise me, and you'll be rid of me." A considering look. "I _assume_ …"

"And if you come back?" Dumbledore hadn't wavered.

"I swear I don't mean any harm to Hogwarts." Harry licked his lips. "I'm even willing to swear under Veritaserum, if necessary. The only person I really hate and would like to see hurt is Voldemort." A lopsided grin. "And I somehow don't think you have much of a problem with _that_ particular inclination."

The twinkle had begun to return to Dumbledore's eyes, though they were no less piercing. "Hardly. Who are you, Harry?"

"I'm not Harry Riddle, as far as I know." He brought one hand up, touched the skin just to the side of his eyes. "I inherited my eyes from my mother's side of the family. And she was Muggle-born, so it is unlikely that I am _his_ grandson, either."

"That is who you are not. But who _are_ you?" There had been a flash of suspicion – probably at the fact that Harry had known the Riddle name.

"Just Harry." Now that he had decided his course, he was determined to stick to it. _I'm not ready. This time of … peace … I'm not going to give that up by shattering it. I don't want my memories of this place – if, that is, I retain my memories, wherever I end up next – to be compromised by the fallout that revelation would cause._ "I'll be gone soon … isn't that enough?"

Dumbledore reluctantly agreed, though his demeanor shouted _"No!"_ And the rest of the group assembled stared at the boy who had convinced their Headmaster to back down.

# # # # #

After leaving Dumbledore's office, the group split fairly quickly. Black had used his persuasive skills and puppy-dog eyes to the utmost to convince Evans to come down to the kitchens with him to snatch a quick snack; Pettigrew and Lupin had pled off and were heading straight back to Gryffindor Tower.

And Harry … as he tailed the black-haired boy, Snape became more and more convinced that Harry was _not_ just setting out on his own in order to take a short-cut back to Gryffindor Tower. That suspicion grew to certainty when Harry stopped at a restroom in a little-used corridor on the first floor (more or less – at Hogwarts, it was sometimes rather hard to tell).

A girls' restroom.

A _haunted_ girls' restroom.

Both eyebrows so high they nearly merged with his hairline, he watched as the spirit took a cursory look in both directions, opened the door, and vanished inside.

Snape, of course, followed.

"… not a girl." The plump and rather unattractive ghost sniffed. Snape's eyes narrowed. So _this_ was the notorious Moaning Myrtle that the Slytherin girls had always complained so bitterly about. She looked rather more … unprepossessing than he had expected.

"I know." Harry managed to sound vaguely apologetic. "But, you see, my friend Hermione told me ever so much about you, so when I found myself in the area, I thought I'd drop in." Oh, now Snape _knew_ Harry was lying through his teeth.

"Really?" Her sad face brightened slightly. "Oh, that was nice of her. You're much nicer than that other boy who comes here." Her chin quivered, and she appeared on the verge of descending back into her previous state of depression.

Harry stiffened so much that even a first-year _Hufflepuff_ could have seen it. Maybe becoming a ghost did something to your observational skills, though, because Moaning Myrtle kept prattling on. "He doesn't even seem to notice I exist!"

Once again prompting Snape to wonder (though not, this time at least, aloud) whether the spirit was _really_ as Gryffindor as he claimed, the brief hole in his mask closed, and he returned to his former appearance of completely relaxed affability. "Oh, that's really too bad of him. I would never treat a pretty girl like you like that."

It was almost like watching Potter trying to charm girls – though that activity had mostly stopped once he and Evans started going out officially – or one of their teachers. Except people usually laughed at Potter. Then again – and this was admitted _extremely_ grudgingly – he was a master at convincing the people laughing at him to do what he wanted anyway.

Snape leaned forward slightly, fascinated. Was that actually a _blush_ on Moaning Myrtle's cheeks? He hadn't known that ghosts _could_ blush – other than Harry, that is. But Harry was something of a different case; he wasn't _really_ a ghost, just … not alive anymore.

"You know," she started shyly, looking down at her feet, then coyly up at Harry through her eyelashes, "I think you're the nicest boy I've ever met. When you die … I wouldn't mind if you came and shared my toilet …"

"I'm afraid I can't." He _still_ sounded regretful. Even Snape wasn't sure he'd be capable of sounding anything but nauseated after that … offer. "You see, I'm already dead."

"But you're solid." She pointed out, beginning to pout. "You _look_ alive."

"That's because I'm possessing James Potter. Once I get exorcised, I honestly don't know _where_ I'll end up. But I don't think I'll be a ghost."

She frowned. "Well, that's not very nice of you." Harry opened his mouth and she deflated. "I know, I know, you can't choose how you end up when you die." Her voice lowered. "Did … did the _yellow eyes_ get you too?"

_Now_ Snape was confused. And he was not liking the experience. What in the world were "the yellow eyes", and how could eyes be capable of killing anyone? Yet, somehow, Harry still seemed to know what she was talking about, as he was already shaking his head. "No, I died as a result of a curse. My friend Hermione, and one of our prefects, and … oh, a number of people got petrified by the yellow eyes, but luckily no one was killed."

_Petrification … seeing yellow eyes …_ Suddenly, Snape made the connection he had been missing, and fell against the wall in shock – far too audibly. _A _basilisk_! Harry's seen a _basilisk_! Here at Hogwarts!_

Then Moaning Myrtle was in his face, and he saw that she was even homelier (to be kind) up close. "You're not a girl either!"

"Snape?" Harry hadn't moved, but now he was looking in the other boy's direction. "What are you … never mind." Now he moved up to stand between Myrtle and Snape. "Myrtle, this is a friend of mine, Severus Snape. He's a Slytherin, so please forgive him for giving in to temptation and following me here. I assure you, he's _probably_ not as scary as he looks."

The glint in Harry's eyes gave Snape the impression that this was Harry's revenge against him, even as his voice remained reassuring and entirely innocent.

Myrtle examined him. "Well, if he's a _Slytherin_ … are they still all so nasty?"

Harry gave the impression of considering that statement. "Even more so, now, if arguably partly out of self-defense: Tom Riddle has become a Dark Lord, so now _everyone_ thinks all Slytherins are evil."

"Riddle? Really?" Her eyes widened. "Wow, I really ought to keep better track of current events, shouldn't I? I mean, he was always rather _cold_, and kinda mean, but a Dark Lord …"

_What _is_ he?_ Snape watched Myrtle and Harry continue to converse about some student named Tom Riddle, who was apparently also Voldemort. _How does he know so much? He seems to know all the secrets of this place. Is this all common knowledge twenty years from now? Somehow, I don't think so … _For the first time, for a brief moment, he began to entertain the notion that Harry really was evil, that he was just taking them in for some unspecified reason.

But no. He wasn't sure why, but he _knew_ that Harry was Good. He had a dark side, perhaps – who did not? – but darkness did not equate to evil. As a Slytherin, he ought to know that better than anyone. If Harry was evil, he himself would have been left to die at Lupin's hands – unlike Harry's mythical version of James Potter, Snape felt perfectly certain that _this_ particular incarnation of his nemesis would have happily left him to die.

Yet even that could have been explained away, had he had an ulterior motive. Why was he so sure that Harry was really what he seemed? Perhaps – though he was reluctant to admit it – it came down to that small thing that he had thought himself devoid of.

Faith.

# # # # #

He walked down the hall, careful not to make a noise but otherwise confident. He was Slytherin, after all, and Slytherins are not seen unless they wish to be seen.

The child had stopped screaming, he noted absently, and had subsided into an apathetic silence, now devoid of anything even resembling hope. How … delicious.

He grasped the door handle, as always reveling in the feeling that proved that he was once again in the land of the living, and turned, entering into the bathroom. Except … there was something in the way. A tall, black something. As he bumped into it, it turned, and he looked up (and up …) to see, first a Slytherin patch, then a prefect badge, then a face that looked vaguely familiar. A Slytherin prefect. Perfect – there was no way that he would be stopped by one of his own.

"Snape. Don't let him get away." An unfamiliar voice, quick and sharp. He looked past the tall prefect to a much younger boy – a bit older than this body, he thought, but still certainly younger than he had been – that made him feel for a moment like he was looking into a mirror.

Except for the fact that the black hair stood out far worse than his ever had, the shape of the face was subtly different, and – oh yeah! – he didn't exactly look like himself at the moment.

The prefect raised an eyebrow and shot an inquiring glance at the boy, but agreeably clamped a hand around his arm – rather harder than necessary, really – dug into his pocket, and took his wand. _Damn it! _He cursed. The wand hadn't liked him very much, but a reluctant wand was better than none at all. How was he going to get out of this now? "Why are you doing this to me?" He asked innocently. "I really don't know what this other guy has against me … and, after all, we're both …" He trailed off into confused silence. _He doesn't know who I am … and this body I'm wearing isn't a Slytherin's. So, to him, we're not. Curses …_

"Both what, Tom?" The boy who looked so much like him drifted closer. "Both … oh … Slytherins, perhaps?" He suggested lightly. "Except you're not anymore. How does it feel to be a Gryffindor, O Heir to Slytherin? And from a family of 'lowborn muggle-loving' Gryffindors, at that." His voice had taken on a mocking lilt, and Tom began to understand why so many people were cowed by his eyes – the green was so intense that it threatened to drown and incinerate him at the same time. _How does he know? No one was supposed to know … it wasn't supposed to work this way …_

A surge of triumph was his only warning as, reenergized by the unexpected sign of hope, his host took control of their body just long enough to draw out the diary – _his_ diary – and send it hurtling through the air towards the boy.

A look of surprised respect found its way onto the boy's face as he deftly caught the flying volume. "Thank you, Bill. Saves me the need to remove it from him myself." His voice went back to that lilting tone. "Honestly, Tom, what is it with you and possessing Weasleys? First Ginny, now Bill …"

Tom/Bill blinked, for once united in their confusion. "I really don't know what you're talking about."

A smile that verged on becoming a smirk slowly appeared on the boy's lips. "No, you wouldn't, would you? And now you never will." He hefted the diary experimentally. "Say goodbye, Voldemort."

_How did he _know –

– In seeming slow motion, the diary arced through the air –

– The boy – _I still don't know his name_ – raised his wand –

"_Incendio!_"

– His world dissolved into a whirlwind of fire and pain.

# # # # #

Snape abruptly let go as the boy he was holding began to shine a bright white light and scream. Harry just watched the tableau unworriedly … almost as if he had seen it before. Finally, the boy collapsed noisily to the ground and something skittered to rest at Harry's feet. He picked the small object up, exposing it to the light.

A single fang, attached to what looked like a clip-on earring. For some reason, this strange object brought a completely sincere, amused smile to Harry's face. The spirit shook his head. "It figures. I bet he never wears this at home."

"Definitely." Came a mumble from the ground. "Mum would hamstring me." The red-headed child – third-year, if Snape remembered correctly – tried to stand, failed, and finally settled for propping himself up on his elbows to look at the two. "Whoever you are, thank you very much for saving me from … him."

Harry simplified the Weasley child's dilemma by sinking into a cross-legged position. After a moment of hesitation – _I feel so ridiculous_ – Snape sank to his knees, salving his pride with the knowledge that he was still the tallest of the three by a fair bit.

Besides, would they tell? He knew Harry wouldn't. And as for the red-haired kid … perhaps a bit of constructive intimidation would be in order. Later. Certainly not while Harry was watching … he had a feeling that the spirit would not approve. And Snape had been given ample proof, in his opinion at least, that doing things that Harry disapproved of while he was around was definitely _not_ a bright idea.

Then again, what he didn't know, wouldn't hurt him, right?

"It was my pleasure." A shadow of the toothy grin he had worn while destroying the diary passed across his face. "Your mother was always kind to me; all of you made me feel like I was part of your family. Besides, _I_ certainly don't want the basilisk to be let loose on the school again simply because that bastard Lucius decided to move certain plans of his up twenty years."

"Claudi said that it was a goodwill gift from his father. That his father wanted to end the Weasley-Malfoy feud just as much as we did." The quietness to the boy's voice was not solely due to his apparent exhaustion, and the way he bit his lip showed that that was the only thing that was keeping it from quivering.

"He might have thought so himself." Harry said gently. "Lucius could have tricked him. I wouldn't immediately assume the worst."

Bill lowered his head, part abashed and part relieved. "I didn't want to … I don't know if I really could. He's my best friend. But I can't seem to forget that he's also a Malfoy …"

"And he probably has a hard time forgetting, sometimes, that you're a Weasley." Harry sighed. "Look, Bill, if this friendship matters to you, go for it. It will be hard – no matter how Lucius lies, neither of your families will be pleased, probably not ever. Everyone you know will tell you 'He's a no-good Malfoy.' 'He's evil, just like the rest of them.' They'll find every wedge they can to drive you apart."

A girl named Shirley had moved to Little Whinging when Harry was in second grade. The first day of school, she sat next to him, they talked – though it was mostly her talking; Harry was too well conditioned to keep quiet – and it seemed like a friendship was budding.

But everyone knew about Harry Potter, that no-good, lazy waste-of-space the poor Dursleys had been inflicted with because his parents had been so foolish as to get themselves killed in a drunk driving accident. Soon enough, Shirley knew too.

Within a month, she ceased to exist as an individual to Harry. She was just another faceless tormentor in the mob that made his days hell and occasionally even invaded his dreams. He had taken the lesson to heart: until Hagrid and, later, Ron and Hermione had come along and so easily broken all his barriers, he had become quite adept at remaining alone. Sometimes, he had almost been able to convince himself that he preferred it that way.

A shake of his head. "What I'm trying to say, Bill, is that you need to convince yourself – to truly _believe_, in your heart of hearts – that Claudius is more than 'just another evil Malfoy' … before a host of well-meaning friends and family convinces you that that's _all_ he is."

A look of determination crossed his face. "I will." A curious glance. "Who _are_ you? I don't know that I've seen you before."

"I'm Harry." The aforementioned spirit pushed himself to his feet. "Now, you must be exhausted. In addition to the late hour, Tom's probably been feeding off your energy for quite a while now. Let's get you to the Hospital Wing, hm?" He started trying to pick up the younger boy.

Snape stood as well, looking from the third-year to the (fourth? fifth?)-year, who looked about the same size and weight. If anything, the Weasley looked slightly more bulky. He sighed in resignation, rolled his eyes, and unclasped his arms. "Don't even try, Harry. You might hurt yourself." _Am I really going to do this? I'm insane … _"I'll carry him."

_If anyone actually sees me doing this, I'll never live it down …_

# # # # #

The same group that had been there for the confrontation the previous night now gathered in Dumbledore's office to await the appearance of the exorcist who had, surprisingly, agreed to come on extremely short notice.

The fire in Dumbledore's fireplace suddenly flared, turning green for a moment before a figure spun out of it, brushing the soot off her rather plain dress. "I do hope this is a fairly quick job, Professor. Arthur managed to get home early tonight, but you _know_ how he is with the children, and he simply _can't_ handle Percy for any long period of time."

"Mrs. Weasley?" Harry blurted, surprised the exorcist was actually someone he knew. Especially someone he had always thought of as the epitome of the stay-at-home mother.

She turned to face him, running her gaze from his head to his toes. "So, are you my project? I assume you knew me, wherever you came from."

"Yes ma'am." He returned respectfully, all the while furiously counting up years in his head. "Er … not to be rude or anything, but are you sure that …" he ran down, unable to come up with a polite way of putting it. Finally, he settled for bluntness. "The twins won't be hurt by whatever it is you'll do to exorcise me, will they?"

"Twins?" She looked puzzled.

"Did you not know?" He regretted saying anything. "But … they were born in April … I'm _pretty_ sure '78 … so you should be a good four months along by now, right?"

"Oh, you mean …" one hand drifted to her stomach, accompanied by a small, incredulous smile. "I certainly didn't know I was carrying twins. I must tell Arthur when I get home …"

Harry bit his lip. "Well, you did in my world … you might not here … I really don't know how different things are. But Bill still exists … and Charlie too, I assume … and you already mentioned Percy …"

"Yes, I have three sons. What about … the twins?"

"The … oh. Both boys. Where I come from, at least." The conversation devolved into silence. "I suppose we ought to get on with it." A quirky smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "You need to save your husband from Percy, after all."

Harry turned back to look at the group arrayed behind him. "Before I disappear, I'd just like to say … thanks." Harry looked at all their faces, slowly panning his gaze as he caught each pair of eyes, finally turning back forward to catch the Headmaster's gaze as well. "And Professor Dumbledore? The Chamber of Secrets should be safe again."

"So it _was_ you who left me that note." His eyes narrowed. "How sure are you?"

"Let's just say that, as far as I know, the only person left who could open the Chamber" _besides me … but no one needs to know that … Dumbledore is already too close to believing me a Dark wizard as it is …Iinteresting, the way our 'relationship' has developed without the protection of the Potter name._ "is Voldemort. And if _he_ made it into the school, I think you'd have far bigger problems to deal with than the Chamber of Secrets."

"Indeed." There, the twinkle. As always, it had something of a relaxing effect on Harry.

Harry turned back. "Peter – our worlds are different. _Never_ forget that. Only you determine what choices you make. Make the decisions that are right for _you_. Even if no one else understands, I like to think that, wherever I end up, I will."

"I will remember." His braid was wrapped around his hand two, three times, his grip tight. "I promise."

"Sirius …" He looked at the boy who would become his godfather in another world. "I know you don't like me much and, to be frank, I don't like you all that much either. But I still hope you lead a good and happy life. Just try to keep a cool head, all right?"

Perhaps the first hint of a genuine smile he had seen directed at _him_, not James. "That can be harder than it sounds … but I guess I have ample reason, now, to try, huh?"

"Lily … it has been nice seeing you alive, even if I never really got to know you well." Harry grinned. "I'm sure you'll be glad I'm gone, even if only because you no longer need to worry about who's watching." She blushed. "Seriously, I hope the two of you are happy together." _For more than four years …_

"Thanks." She was still blushing, but it had died down a bit.

"Snape …" He trailed off. What _did_ he want to say to the boy who was, in his own odd way, a friend, who could become the man he had despised? "I can't ask you to _like_ them …"

"… Can I at least lobby for self-defense?" The Slytherin asked sardonically.

"That would be allowable, I think." They shared a smile, each in his own way – from Harry, a full-blown grin; from Snape, a smirk that seemed a bit more good-natured than usual.

"I'm a Slytherin. I'll survive."

"Don't merely survive, though. _Live_." He dug through his pocket, then tossed what he found to Snape. "Keep my wand, will you? I get the feeling you'd be most compatible with it." And whatever Dumbledore thought of that bit of information could go hang.

The Slytherin caught and stowed the wand away reluctantly. "I fully expect to return it to you in twenty years or so – even if I have to test it out on every black-haired, green-eyed baby in Britain."

_Oh, I'll be much closer than that._ He grinned. "Good luck." Another turn. "Remus … never forget that you're more than just the beast. You're a person, too, and you can't survive if you're too alone."

Remus nodded, his eyes expressing his doubt more eloquently than any words could have.

One more turn, to complete the circle. "Professor Dumbledore. I'm sure you'll be glad to see me gone, and for the sake of your peace of mind, I do hope that we never meet again."

Lastly, he turned to Mrs. Weasley. "I'm ready."

# # # # #

It was … what he could remember of his death. Only backwards. First, the confusing swirl of emotions, of senses, of pictures. The swirl of colors that faded to complete darkness … and, finally, impossibly, brightened to light.

To a corridor – it didn't really matter which – mostly empty, but occupied by two hauntingly familiar faces. "Ron? Hermione?" Harry rushed _(__floated?)_ forward, circling around them. "You're all right! Listen, you'll never _believe_ what happened to me …"

"Do you think Harry's all right?" Hermione asked, biting worriedly on a fingernail. "… he vanished, didn't he?"

"Of course I'm all ri … well, I guess I _am_ dead, but other than that, I'm doing great!"

"I don't know, 'Mione … there's not really anything we can do right now, though. We just have to hope that the Headmaster knows what's going on and can do something."

"Hello? Ron? 'Mione!" Harry positioned himself right in front of the two and waved his hands vigorously. Then gasped at the shock as they walked straight through him without so much as a flinch. "Of all the …" He hovered around the two a few moments longer before convincing himself that no, they wouldn't suddenly become able to see him. That they probably wouldn't ever be able to see him again.

"Okay, _now_ death really sucks."

# # # # #

"Where is he?"

"We don't know, Sirius." Dumbledore looked like he was beginning to lose even his famously inexhaustible patience. "All we can do now is wait. Severus was called; he should be back soon to tell us what happened." A grave look. "I fear Voldemort has returned."

"Snape!" It was clear which part of that statement had caught the majority of Sirius' attention. "You'd trust that … that …"

"Oh, give it a rest!" Harry drifted through the office door just in time to catch Sirius' last statement. It was too much to hope for that the Headmaster would actually be able to see or hear him, but it still seemed like the place to go. And knowing that neither would hear him, telling his godfather what he really thought about his feud with the Slytherin professor – especially now that he had met the two in the past – was rather cathartic. "Snape is just as trustworthy as … as you! So just shut up, for once, Sirius, and stop letting your resentment of him get the better of your judgment."

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes came back full force. "I couldn't have said it better myself." Then dimmed. "Harry?"

Said spirit's mouth dropped open. "You … you can _hear_ me!" He jumped – or came as close as someone who was floating to begin with could. "Great! I was beginning to think I'd be doomed to wander alone, unable to interfere in events at all. That _was_ one of the postulated consequences, after all …"

"Harry?" Sirius blanched. "You're …"

"Respiratorially challenged?" He suggested impishly. "Yeah. But the good news is, so is Voldemort." A sharkish grin. "I finally got rid of that bastard. For good."

"For good?" From Dumbledore, almost as if it was too much to hope for.

"For good." Harry repeated, happy to be around a version of the man who did not regard him with some sort of suspicion. "Oh, and Professor? You have a leak here at Hogwarts. I think – though I can't _prove_ anything – that it's someone Polyjuicing as Professor Moody."

"What are you talking about? It's that bloody git …"

"Sirius. Stop." A cold tone. "I may not like Snape either, but at least I've learned to give him the benefit of the doubt. He may have been a Death Eater at one point, but at heart, he is now no more of one than you or I."

Dumbledore had a thoughtful look on his face. "That would explain why it seemed like he was unusually thirsty … ordinarily I would have expected him to leave his hip flask in his room at least during his classes …" A shake of his head. "Thank you, Harry. I'll look into it."

"Are you …" Sirius trailed off, shaking his head. Bitterly, "no, of course you're not all right. You're … _dead_."

"On the contrary, Sirius, now that Voldemort is no longer around to trouble us, I'm better than I have been in … a long time." _Maybe ever._ "I just regret all the pain I must be causing you and my friends and … everyone else." _This_ got Harry closer to tears than thoughts of his own death ever had. "And … Professor? … you might want to let the Diggorys know … Cedric's dead. I couldn't save him …"

"I feel like I've failed you." Sirius looked at his feet. "I should have been _there_ for you …"

"In the end, you couldn't. No one could have. I went to my death open-eyed, Sirius, and I don't regret it." No response. "Sirius, look at me. It. Was. Not. Your. Fault." Reluctantly, Sirius lifted his head, and their eyes met, brilliant green to pale grey-blue.

And the world shattered.

15 April 2003  
20 April 2005  
11 September 2011  
5 September 2012

(The End? You gotta be kidding me!)


	7. Chapter 7

Two months, nearly. For this. And I don't even have the excuse that it's twice as long as normal … because it's actual rather on the short side, as chapters of this story go. *sigh*

It is … all Sirius' fault, I think. He and Harry were being bloody nightmares, giving me the worst writer's block I've ever had on this story. Thankfully, it seems to be over; the next chapter should not be _nearly_ as long in coming. *crosses fingers* I hope.

Though I suppose not having finals and APs and graduation to worry about will help some, too. :P

Anyway, here it be. The only part of Harry Potter that belongs to me is a full set of the British version of the books, plus a copy of the fifth book pre-ordered from amazon. And … um … the remarkable nonentity that only shows up in one chapter, a Miss Erica Brown. For what it's worth.

So … enjoy.

(11/26/2012: more random minor edits)

# # # Chapter 7 # # #

He tumbled endlessly through … space? nothingness? eternity? … books he had not been aware he was holding _(how could he hold anything? he was _dead_, he no longer _had_ a corporeal body with which to hold things)_ tumbling away from him down the stairs as he, too, began to fall, paralyzed by the sudden disorienting light, color, sound … the sudden _life_, where a moment before there had been nothing.

Suddenly his shirt tightened across his throat as he was hauled back from the fall, literally by the scruff of his neck. "Thanks, James. That was a close one!" His mouth shaped words and a nervous laugh that his mind had not, as his hand rose of its own accord to rub his throat, as he found himself a helpless observer in another's body once again.

"Don't bother to thank me – and _especially_ not if you're going to confuse me with Potter." _Snape_ answered, the distaste for both that thought and the person who had uttered it quite clear. "I didn't do it for _you_, Black … I just didn't think Harry would have taken too kindly to me letting you trip down the stairs and break your fool neck." The Slytherin turned on his heel and left.

"Yeah … well … thanks anyway." Sirius muttered, unsure himself whether he wanted Snape to hear.

_:The more I see of him, the more I find myself almost _liking_ the greasy old bastard.:_ Harry chuckled to himself._ :Who would have thought?:_

"Harry?" Eyes wide, Sirius narrowly escaped falling down the stairs again – this time with no Snape there to catch him. "You're back?"

_:Evidently.:_ Dryly. _:How long have I been gone? It was only a matter of minutes back in my time … world … whatever.:_

"It's been nearly a month." Sirius answered. A pause. "Waitasecond! What are you doing in _my_ head?"

_:That _is_ the million-pound question, now isn't it?:_

# # # # #

"What do you want?" Having given up on class for the moment in favor of quizzing his new inhabitant, Sirius leaned against the corridor wall, arms crossed, looking for all the world like he was carrying on a conversation with a nearby suit of armor.

_:Um. World peace would be nice?:_

Sirius sighed gustily. _Should have known … _"What do you want _from me_?" He rephrased.

Silence. _:Do I have to want anything specific?:_

_:Well …:_ Sirius tried, for the first time, to direct a thought at the interloper instead of speaking aloud – though the halls were empty, so it wasn't like there was anyone around to hear and deem him crazy –and was rewarded by a perceptible shift in what he _could_ sense from the younger man towards anticipatory curiosity. _:I can almost see you landing in James' head on accident, but to come back … _and_ target me instead … makes me think that you want something.:_

_:Hm. From your perspective I'd agree with you, but … whatever it is, this thing I do apparently doesn't work like that. I was back in my own time and place, informing the Headmaster and my godfather of Voldemort's death:_ a brief flash of fierce triumph that almost as quickly faded into a sort of … regret? _:and, of course, my own. I hope my godfather's okay … I disappeared so unexpectedly …:_

_He … really cares._ It surprised Sirius, though perhaps it shouldn't have. But what little he had seen of Harry had seemed so … well, distant. Disconnected from reality. It was vaguely disconcerting to find the spirit _did_ care for someone.

_:I may be dead _now_, but alive I was as human as anyone, you know.:_ Harry replied, not as snippily as Sirius would have expected – especially considering the earfuls the Marauders (meaning primarily himself – the rift between the two of them and Remus and Peter had still not yet entirely healed) had received from James on the very subject once he was sure Harry had disappeared.

_:I … hero-worshipped, I suppose … Dumbledore; I loved my friends, liked my dormmates, got along fairly well with just about everyone, most of the time, except Professor Snape and the Slytherins … I really liked Professor Lupin that year he was there, and my godfather …:_ In his mind's eye, Sirius could almost visibly see Harry trying to shake the mood off. _:Yes, Padfoot, I'm human.:_

_He said something about being back in his time; so he probably … Padfoot, you're an idiot._

Sirius sighed, resisting the impulse to smack himself. _:You just saw them, and here I am, salting raw wounds. I apologize, Harry … usually I'm not _quite_ this much of an oblivious moron.:_

He could feel Harry's mood begin to lighten – was he better at judging this sort of thing than James, or was Harry just not putting as much effort into shielding? – taking on an almost teasing tone. _:Could have fooled me.:_

# # # # #

_:What's wrong?:_

Sirius' head shot up from its former position, where he had been staring morosely at – or rather through – the cobblestones slightly in front of his feet. _:Nothing. What makes you think there was?:_

_:You were brooding harder than my godfather – and _you_ don't have twelve years in Azkaban as an excuse.:_

_:Twelve years in –:_ Sirius spluttered, now more sure than ever that Harry had some sort of connection to the Dark. _:What did he _do_?:_

_:Falsely convicted of being a Death Eater, betrayal, murdering thirteen people …:_

… _Falsely_ convicted? This story was beginning to sound terribly familiar to the seventh-year. _:_Me_? _I_ am your godfather?:_

_:And despite my disagreements with you _here_, I couldn't have asked for a better one.:_ Harry affirmed staunchly. _:… aside from the whole escaped-convict-on-the-run angle, of course. Kinda cuts down on visiting time.:_ Despite the flippant tone of the answer, Sirius could feel a sense of … regret? At not having had a chance to get to know him better?

_:Well, at least I can –:_ Change into Padfoot, he had been about to say. But what if Harry didn't know? He had used the nickname, but what if he thought it was just a nickname? Whether Sirius would someday be the fourth-year's godfather or not, he was still not entirely convinced that Harry was _not_ affiliated with the Dark – in fact, nearly all the evidence that he had encountered seemed to point directly at that very conclusion; it was only his … what? Gryffindor sense of fairness? … that kept him from demanding something be done, kept him waiting until Harry provided incontrovertible proof one way or the other.

He'd like nothing more than to think that no one he associated with would be the sort to turn Dark –whether 'he' was himself, or the person with his name twenty years or so from now in a different universe – but even if that was true, it's not like he'd been around during Harry's formative years, so he – the other himself – Merlin this was confusing – probably _hadn't_ known Harry very well.

Besides, the fact that Harry knew an escapee from Azkaban, even if he _was_ innocent …

_:Indeed.:_ Harry said, and for a moment Sirius panicked, thinking the spirit had been responding to his later thoughts. _:In fact, that's how you managed to escape, you said – evidently the Dementors:_ a barely perceptible flinch _:don't really notice animal emotions.: _

Sirius very quietly raised mental eyebrows. So the seemingly undauntable spirit _was_ afraid of something. Not that he blamed him in this case … he had had a chance encounter with a Dementor _once_, and that had been _quite_ enough for him, thank you! But Harry was continuing. _:Though the first time I saw you, it was late at night, and your eyes seemed to be glowing … I nearly had a heart attack.:_ A self-deprecating chuckle. _:Then again, meeting you in human form for the first time wasn't exactly a walk in the park, either … you may not have actually _been_ a deranged mass murderer, but you certainly _looked_ the part.:_

_:Comforting.:_ And so, genuinely, was the revelation that Harry already knew about his Animagus form. For one thing, it was one less secret he would have to (attempt to) hide from Harry – not exactly the easiest task, when they were sharing space in Sirius' head, and definitely not when he was almost certain that he was far more open than his fellow resident. For another … well, godson or not, Sirius didn't _think _he'd ever reveal his Animagus form to someone he didn't fully trust, so it was also a indication of the trust the _other_ Sirius had in Harry, even if he did not feel the same.

That topic dealt with, he turned his mind to the image that he had thought, for a moment, that he had seen. It had been located in a place he recognized as the Shrieking Shack, and the focus had been a strange adult that could not have been anyone but himself. He had looked _old_, though, and worse than that, an absolute mess – bruised, dirty, extremely frayed around the edges, and starved.

Though it was a silly thing to do, he reached up and touched his head, reassuring himself that his hair was still soft, silky, and only a little past the tips of his ears, not the elbow-length mess he thought he had seen. _:My hair was greasier than _Snape's_. I didn't know that was _possible_.:_ Belatedly, it occurred to him that that had probably not been the best move ever … considering that he knew the spirit regarded Snape as … well, certainly something far more congenial than he himself did.

Yet, surprisingly, Harry snickered. _:… how very true.:_ Then, shock. _:But … how did you … you _saw_ that?:_ An impression that he was shaking his head. _:Never mind. Stupid question. Can you see … this?:_ Another picture formed in his mind's eyes, this one more solid and longer lasting.

Two students, actually _looking_ the fourteen or fifteen Harry claimed as his age. A boy with fiery red hair and a girl who had bushy brown. _:That hair … the boy's a Weasley, right? I don't recognize the girl.:_

_:Ron's Mrs. Weasley's youngest son.:_ Harry confirmed. _:I wouldn't expect you to recognize Hermione; she's Muggle-born. The two of them are … _were_ … my best friends.:_

This was beginning to give Sirius a serious desire to go somewhere else and scream. (Except how do you get away from someone who's living in your head?). Every time he thought he finally had Harry figured out, the spirit sprung something else on him, something that upset all his calculations. Before, he had been perfectly content disliking Harry, secure in his belief that the boy was a younger, slightly more congenial, and (thankfully) dead Dark wizard (in training).

Then the spirit had to admit that Sirius was his godfather (a shock in and of itself … who would be foolish enough to choose _him_ as mentor to a young, impressionable child?), and that he was best friends with a Weasley – one of the most prominently Light pureblooded families, even though certain others looked down on them for their lack of wealth. For one of them to associate with someone he had formerly ranked only slightly lower on the scale of Darkness than Voldemort and his Death Eaters …

_Was_ Harry truly Dark? The relationships could be explained away, if not very satisfactorily, and the factual _evidence_ all seemed to point in that direction. But … wait. 'Were' his best friends? Had they thrown him over when they discovered the truth about him? Or … _:What happened to them? Did they die?:_

Dryly, _:No. I did.:_

And what did one say to that?

# # # # #

_:Has the Chamber of Secrets remained quiet?:_

Sirius jerked, nearly choking on his food, far more surprised than Harry thought was warranted, given that they had been sharing head-space for hours now.

"You all right?" James asked, pounding him (unnecessarily hard, of course) on the back.

Sirius coughed a last couple of times, experimentally, before weakly reassuring his friend. "Yeah, 'mfine."

_:Sorry about that.:_ Harry apologized, feeling guilty. _:I didn't expect you to react quite so … violently.:_

_:… You surprised me.:_ With one last cough, Sirius returned to the task at hand: namely, eating. _:You were quiet enough that I had almost forgotten you were there.:_

_:I'm not sure whether I should take that as a compliment or an insult …:_ Harry's tone was dry. _:I suppose I'll let it pass … this time.:_

Sirius tossed an image – himself wiping his forehead and collapsing against a wall with the sheer force of his relief – in Harry's direction. Harry caught the image easily, taking it in the spirit it had been meant. _:Glad to know you have proper … 'respect' for me.:_ He replied, deadpan.

When Harry had first realized he was trapped in _Sirius'_ head, he had worried that it would be like trying to coexist with James … or possibly worse. Yet … after the first exchange of hostilities, it felt like he was slipping back into a comfortable relationship with an old friend, though Sirius' quirky sense of humor was a delightful surprise he had not previously seen in either his post-Azkaban godfather or his earlier interactions with the Sirius of this time and place.

Sirius, on the other hand, was struck yet again by the oddness of his reaction to this being that every rational part of him was crying out for him to draw his wand on (though that would be rather hard, considering that Harry was currently residing in his head …); surprised and, to be frank, rather disturbed as he realized just how much he enjoyed their exchanges.

After all, it just didn't seem right that a Death … no, he was almost certain that Harry was not a Death Eater; though the boy knew entirely too much about the Dark Lord, his hatred for said wizard seemed unfeigned. Still, that a Dark wizard like Harry (for on that point, after careful consideration and much thinking in circles, he would _not_ be budged) could be such pleasant company …

It was a sad statement of affairs that he would almost have been relieved had Harry suggested sneaking out for a spot of Muggle-torture, if only because then he would be acting in line with Sirius' expectations. Except one of his best friends was Muggle-born …

_:The Chamber?:_ The object of his musings prompted, after what he evidently judged was a significant length of silence. _:I may keep allowing myself to be distracted, but I _would _like to know __eventually.:_

Sirius shrugged. _:I haven't heard anything, and I'm pretty sure James hasn't either. And as Head Boy, he's in on nearly everything, so I'm assuming it has stayed closed.:_

_:Believe me,: _Harry said solemnly, softly, as intensely as he had ever heard the spirit speak, _:if it was open, you would know.:_ Sirius caught a flash of something, nearly too quickly gone to catch anything. A stone wall, much like the ones bordering every hall here at Hogwarts, splattered with blood (or something similar … yet he had a sinking feeling that it was not any comforting substitute), flickering eerily near-black in low torchlight. _:Be glad it didn't get that far, this time …:_

_:What do you mean, 'this time'? Harry!:_

Silence.

# # # # #

"Do mine eyes deceive me? Sirius Black? In the Library?"

Sirius rolled his eyes and grunted. "Nice to see you too, Moony." He muttered sourly. "Feel like helping? Or would you rather just sit around and ridicule me?"

As he took a seat, Remus frowned contemplatively at the stack of books surrounding his black-haired friend. "What exactly _are_ you researching, Padfoot?"

"Chamber of Secrets." He raked his fingers through his hair. "There's _nothing_ useful!"

Remus blinked. "We only have Dumbledore's reaction to the topic to prove that the Chamber of Secrets is more than just a myth." He pointed out. "That's the tack all the books _I've_ ever seen have taken, so of _course_ there's nothing useful. Why? This isn't a History paper from the last full moon that you 'forgot' to tell me about, is it?"

Sirius shook his head. "Harry was saying something about being glad that the Chamber wasn't fully opened 'this time'. So I wanted to know about _last_ time."

"Considering that this is _Harry_ we're talking about, I'm betting he was in the thick of everything … which means that 'last time' was probably about twenty years from now." His eyes widened. "Wait a second. _Harry_ was _saying_?" And narrowed. "Is there something you would like to tell me, Si-ri-us?" He carefully enunciated each syllable in a tone that approached singsong.

_:Scary!:_ Sirius whimpered.

Though part of him was laughing at the completely cowed picture Sirius was presenting, most of Harry agreed fervently. _:Quite.:_ He said weakly. There was just something about the way Remus' amber eyes nearly _glowed_ that made him very conscious of that part of Remus that was a wolf. A rather irritated one, in fact. Even though he _knew_ that Remus would never willingly hurt any of his friends, the sight was, as Sirius had put it so concisely, _scary_.

"Hm?" Remus was now tapping his foot. Make that a rather irritated, _impatient_ wolf.

"… Heonlyjustappearedearliertod ayandIhaven'tseenyousincelunch" Deep breath. "SoyouseeIreally_couldn't_havetbeen_really_keepingsecretsfromyou."

Remus smiled, and just as suddenly all hints of danger dissipated. "So, how is he holding up? Did he say what he's been up to for this last month or so?"

"He claimed he was only gone a few minutes. From what he's said, he returned to his time and was talking with the Headmaster and his godfather when he … came back. And landed in my head somehow."

Remus leaned forward slightly. "Harry has a godfather? Huh. Anyone we know?"

"Yeah. Me."

"_You?_" Okay, so Sirius knew he wasn't the brightest choice for godfather ever. That was still no excuse for Remus to sound quite _that_ … well … shocked. "Good god, Harry, I'm surprised you turned out as well adjusted as you did."

Harry made some sort of sound of amusement; somewhere between a snicker and a giggle. Sirius folded his arms, reluctantly amused himself. It _was_, after all, a good crack, and if he had learned nothing else from Hogwarts, it was how to laugh at himself. "Oh, that's easy enough to explain. I was too busy playing Dementor bait and becoming uglier than Snape to have anything to do with Harry."

"Oh yeah." Remus bit his lip. "Sorry, Padfoot."

He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I'm not going to let it happen to _me_, after all, even if it did happen to the other me."

"Still … oh, and how are _you_ holding up? I assume Harry is doing well enough, or he'd probably be making you a lot more miserable than you look."

Sirius sighed a huge puff of air, setting his chin on his hands. A moment later, minus the sigh, Remus followed his example, once again putting them more-or-less on eye level. "Confused." He finally admitted. "And it doesn't help that Harry is a _lot_ more polite and … well … bearable than James made him sound. The worst that has happened to me so far is almost choking during dinner … and I know that was an accident."

Remus remained pointedly silent; after nearly six and a half years living in the same dorm room and being part of as tight-knit a group as the Marauders, Sirius knew quite well that that was just his polite way of saying 'I told you so'. James' complaints, after all, had been one of the main things driving the 'pro-Harry' Marauders (Remus and Peter) away even after Harry was exorcised, as neither could bear to listen to him for long before they either jumped in on Harry's behalf (ending in a nice, loud fight) or stalked off in anger.

Sirius just sighed again, silently this time. _I may like him more than James does, but I'm even more convinced that he's at least partly Dark … and I don't know that I'll ever have your faith in him._

Whatever Harry had done to or for Remus, it had earned him an unswerving friend for life. Sirius could only hope that it wouldn't end up hurting his friend … Remus had been hurt entirely too many times in his life already.

# # # # #

"C'mon Wormtail! Sirius has something to tell us." Remus pulled his quietly protesting friend along, completely ignoring the strange looks being shot his way.

"A little too much tea this morning, Moony?" Peter quizzed. "I haven't seen you this bouncy since … well, in quite some time." And as they skidded up to Sirius, he frowned thoughtfully. "And since when has Sirius told you _anything_ before James? … Well, except for those times that he was in danger of failing and desperately pleading for your help in passing."

"You'll see." Remus was bouncing on his toes. Just a little, but noticeably … and that was something he _never_ did unless he was excited. "Oh! Snape! I bet he'd … hmm. Not here in the common room, though. Oh well, one of us will have to tell him later."

"Tell who what later?" As usual, when James entered the room, all eyes turned to him.

Immediately, Sirius started looking even more uncomfortable, taking a distinct interest in his feet. "Well … you see … I found out this morning that Harry is back." A deep breath. "In _my_ head, this time."

"Really?" _Now_ Peter knew what had Remus so perky. "Tell Harry I say hi. How's he been?"

Sirius went briefly unfocused. "Harry says to tell everyone hi. He's been quite well, thank you, other than his consistent complaint."

"Oh yeah." Peter looked briefly embarrassed. "I guess it _is_ kinda silly to ask a dead person how he's feeling."

Another blank look. "He laughed, agreed, but pointed out that, in this case, it's reasonable."

James shook his head, his mouth a firm, angry line, turned on his heel, and abruptly left. Sirius' head turned to follow the movement. "James –?"

Peter put out a restraining hand. "Let him go for now. This is James … he'll be back eventually, though I wouldn't be surprised if he keeps his distance until Harry disappears again." His tone of voice changed. "Sorry, Harry, but …"

_:It's probably the truth.:_ Harry admitted. _:For what it's worth, I'm sorry, too, Sirius. I didn't mean…:_

_:For James to act like an utter git?:_ Sirius asked sourly. _:It's not your fault that … well, it _is_ partly your fault, and partly his, that he doesn't like you – and is now free to act on that dislike. But it's not your fault that this is how he is reacting.:_

_:But if I wasn't here …:_

_:Prongs and I would be happier,:_ Sirius acknowledged, _:but I'd bet you anything that Wormtail and Moony wouldn't. They missed you.:_

He could almost physically feel Harry's wince. _:They shouldn't. That'll only make the final parting that much harder … because I _am_ going to go away and not come back someday. Especially if – no offense – I keep getting stuck in James' or your head.:_

_:None taken.:_ Sirius reluctantly smirked. _:I get the feeling that you and I are getting along better than you and James did … but we're still neither of us terribly enthused with the prospect of being stuck together.:_

_:I couldn't have put it better myself.:_

# # # # #

Carefully keeping even his _thoughts_ quiet and his movements as close a simulation to 'natural' as he could, Sirius turned over in his bed, looking towards James'. Still empty. Again, as he had at mostly random moments all evening, ever since James turned and walked away, he felt a cold, hollow feeling in his stomach, paired with a burning determination. He _would_ not let Harry ruin his friendship with James, inadvertently or otherwise, the way he had nearly destroyed the Marauders.

_:Harry?:_ He sent the whisper threading through his mind, and smiled in triumph when all that returned to him was an incoherent mumble and what might have been the beginnings of a soft snore. _Perfect._ He had been afraid the fourth-year would literally stay up all night, either worrying at the question of the evening – why had _they_ not switched bodies as the sun fell, the way Harry and James had? – or just flat from insomnia.

He rolled out of bed, years of escapades allowing him to make a nearly completely soundless landing, stood, and tiptoed out of the room.

As he had expected, James was sitting in the common room in front of the fire, staring into it with a moody expression. When James had not shown in their dorm room at first, Sirius had been worried that James had finally found a reason worthy of breaking his boycott of the Head Boy's room – slept in only that first evening of their seventh year, then promptly abandoned to return to the room the four of them had shared for the six years previous.

Yet, if that had been the case, his trunk and the other little trinkets that, scattered around, made that corner of the room undeniably _his_, would have disappeared long before the other three headed to bed. No, James just wanted to make absolutely certain that he would not have to talk to Harry (and, as a consequence, Sirius as well) by staying out of the room until even the spirit – obviously as much a night owl as any of the Marauders – had fallen asleep. Well, tough.

"Heya Prongs." He greeted quietly, swinging down into the chair beside James, who stiffened and half-stood. "No, don't. It's just me."

"He left?" James sat back down, straighter than before, eyes bright with a sparkle that had been absent ever since the announcement.

"No, not so far as I can tell. But I made absolutely sure he was asleep before coming down here."

"Oh." James slumped back into his former position. "What do you want, Sirius?"

"I want to know if you're going to destroy our friendship – which is where we're headed right now, don't you _dare_ deny it! – simply because I'm not alone in my head right now."

"I …" Disturbed was the only good word for James' expression. "If that's the way you interpreted it, I'm sorry. I don't want to lose you, Sirius … not after Harry has already cost me Remus and Peter. I … just can't be around him."

"Why? I know you don't like him, I don't much either" _except when I do … _"but you don't like Snape, either, and you can stay in the same room as him for at _least_ a couple of hours. If you absolutely have to."

"It's not that. It …" Unconsciously, he started rubbing his right upper arm with his left hand, as if suddenly chilled. "He creeps me out, Siri. I'm not entirely sure why … there have been times – once – when he seemed very … _vulnerable_, when I couldn't _not_ care and try to protect him. But then he turns around the next second and it's like a completely blank wall. Nothing. _No one's_ that unreadable, and certainly not when it's their very thoughts and emotions that they're controlling, not just how they affect their facial expressions and body language."

"You can't bear him because you can't read him?"

"No!" He protested. "Well … that's part of it. But I could almost deal with it in a Slytherin, say, someone I _expect_ to be different … someone I don't have to live with, day in and day out. But he was supposed to be Gryffindor, right? Gryffindors aren't _like_ that."

He leapt to his feet; started pacing. "And every time he tells you something, you get the feeling that there are about ten other things he could have said, but chose not to. He has too many secrets. And he _knows_ too many secrets: Remus' condition, our private names for each other …"

"Our – or at least my – alternate forms." Sirius interjected quietly. "I take that back – Wormtail's, too. Remember when he was talking about the future? He said Peter spent a number of years as a pet _rat_."

"… the entrance to the you-know-where … the Chamber of Secrets, for crying out loud! How _can_ he know so much?"

"It is possible that one of us told him." Sirius pointed out after a short silence. "Well, not about the Chamber of Secrets; even _we_ haven't managed to find that yet." They shared a chagrined smile. "But about everyone else. After all, according to him, I _am_ supposedly his godfather."

"_You_? A godfather?" The sparkle was back at last. "I take back everything I said. No _wonder_ he's screwed up!"

Sirius breathed a quick sigh of relief, indescribably happy that their relationship seemed to once again be getting back to … well, as close to normal as it could be, what with a suspected Dark wizard currently snoring away in the back of his head. Still, no matter how relieved or happy he was, he couldn't let a comment like that stand.

"Oh, and I suppose _you_ could do better?"

7 June 2003  
18 September 2011  
5 September 2012


	8. Chapter 8

*yawns* I ought to be in bed now …

Gee, there's something about me and chapters that insist on being twice as long as they ought to be, isn't there? And this is even considering the fact that I neglected to write the last scene I was originally planning on putting in this chapter in an effort to avoid being lynched due to the horrid cliffhanger that would probably have resulted …

I suppose now I ought to go into the longwinded hiatus/discontinuation-due-to-appearance-of-the-_real_-fifth-year speech now, shouldn't I?

*pauses thoughtfully*

Ah, screw it. If you've gotten this far without realizing that this story is majorly AU even where the end of the _fourth_ book is concerned, you almost deserve to believe I'm going to stop writing this story simply because J.K. Rowling finally got off her butt and published the fifth book.

Just about the only thing I can see really happening is that a certain few details will be incorporated that were revealed in the fifth book – things like the fact that we now know that James' eyes are hazel – that I would not otherwise have known or included. I'm certainly not going to stop writing entirely – I love this story too much to do that either to myself or to all you people out there reading it.

Harry Potter does not belong to me, although for what it's worth five-sevenths (or is that three-quarters?) of the Gryffindor Quidditch team is my own invention. If anyone cares …

And to all you fellow Americans out there, happy Independence Day. To anyone who's not American … *thinks a moment* *shrugs* Ah, happy Fourth of July anyway. ^^

(11/26/2012: more random minor edits)

# # # Chapter 8 # # #

"Rise and shine, everyone! The first Quidditch match of the season and, if I do say so myself, it's a _beautiful_ day!"

Sirius growled and tried to burrow further under his covers. _Remind me again why I wanted James back to normal?_

_:Quidditch. I _completely_ forgot about Quidditch …:_ Came a moan from the back of his head. _:I'm going to see if I can knock myself unconscious … wake me up when the match is over.:_

_:Why?:_ Sirius asked, surprised. Didn't everyone love Quidditch? Unless … he tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. _:You're not afraid of heights, are you?:_

_:_Hell_ no.:_ Came the equally surprised answer. _:But … well, what position do you play?:_

_:Prongs and I are two of the Chasers. Have been ever since second year; though now he's Captain, too …:_

The sense of a nod. _:That's what I thought. Look, I have nothing against Quidditch … far from it! But I really don't think you'd want another Chaser backseat-driving – you do know what that means, right? – much less a _Seeker_. I'd drive you nuts and completely distract you from your job with my constant attempts to find the Snitch.:_

Sirius made a face. No, he didn't know exactly what backseat-driving meant, as practically his only exposure to Muggle culture (and he _assumed_ that was a Muggle saying) was Lily … but the rest of Harry's explanation gave him a pretty good idea. _:Good point. _Very_ good point. Anything I can do to help?:_

Sardonically, _:Got a brick?:_

# # # # #

"People … we have a problem."

Sirius, reveling in the feel of being in full Quidditch gear again, for the first time in _far_ too long, abruptly took notice. James was the best captain either of them had worked with, and when he said there was a problem, it wasn't a simple matter of a little rain outside or someone's missing spare glove. It was a Problem.

He looked around. Terrence Brown, a sixth-year and their third Chaser, smiled nervously when he caught Sirius looking his way. Despite his age, this was only Terry's first year on the team, and he had not once seen any action from his place in the reserves the previous two years.

"Um … shouldn't we wait until Abby gets here, sir?" The newer of their pair of Beaters, this was also fourth-year Robert Kingston's first year on the main team.

"I'm afraid not. You see, Abby is our problem." Abilene Grey was a third-year, Bob's girlfriend, and, most importantly, their Seeker. And, as Bob had pointed out and Sirius hadn't noticed until then, she was indeed not there. "According to Madam Pomfrey, she has contracted a relatively severe case of the flu. She should be up and around in a couple of weeks – certainly in time enough for our next match – but at this point, she really _can't_ do anything much more strenuous than get her rest and drink lots of fluids."

Bob looked stricken by the news; if this was the first he had heard of his girlfriend's illness, Sirius didn't blame him. The rest just looked grave; they all knew that, of the positions, Seeker was the only one they did _not_ have any reserve players for. No one had even tried out this year, in fact.

His hand twitched, and Sirius looked down at it quizzically. _:So I _can_ do it!:_ He heard Harry crow. _:Unfortunately, I can't do much more without your specific permission. I was _wondering_, when we didn't switch involuntarily last night …:_

_:You mean you can: _Sirius gulped _:take over my body?:_ That gave him an idea. Not a very palatable one, true … He took a deep breath. What was more important to him? The thought that he would no longer have any control whatsoever over his body, that he would be quite possibly giving his body over to a potential Dark wizard … albeit one who had never, as far as he could tell, done serious harm to anyone? Well, except Voldemort, and Sirius was willing to let that one slide.

Or his and James' promise to each other that they would win the Quidditch cup for Gryffindor every year they were on the team, a goal they were only this last year from fulfilling … yet would not be able to, without winning this first, all-important game against Ravenclaw?

_:You would have to trust me, I think … and _mean_ it.:_

Which was more important to him?

# # # # #

"And the Gryffindor Quidditch team!" Harry was surprised to realize that he recognized the announcer's voice: Erica, Lily's friend and presumably Terry's older sister. "Potter, Black, Brown, Knight, Harrell, Johanneson, aaaannndd . . . Wait!" There was a sound of shuffled papers. "Excuse me folks, we have a last minute personnel change, due to unforeseen circumstances."

This time, the team _did_ ready themselves to fly out. "So, how about we try this again? I present the Gryffindor Quidditch Team: Potter, Brown, Gibb, Knight, Harrell, Johanneson, aaaannndd … Black!"

Harry was having trouble adjusting. The broom, though supposedly top-of-the-line, left him yearning desperately for the sleek speed and maneuverability of his Firebolt; to exacerbate the problem, Sirius' body was far taller and heavier – even for his equivalent height – than he was used to. Still, once on the field, habit kicked in and he soared to near the center of the field, twenty or thirty feet above even the tallest hoop. _:It's _good_ to be back.:_

_:Now _I'm_ the one who has to sit on his hands and try not to interfere.:_ Sirius grumbled. _:Figures.:_

Freed of the need to act normal because there was no one else nearby, Harry allowed himself to laugh out loud. _:Sorry … just remember, _you_ insisted.:_

His eyes were fixed on the ground below, where a much younger Madam Hooch (though still with entirely silver hair) stood over the box containing the balls, whistle already in her mouth. _:Yeah, well you probably still wouldn't be, if you hadn't fed James that story about being the youngest Seeker in the century.: _He took on a singsong tone. _:'The only time I've been on the field and _not_ caught the Snitch, it was because they let the Dementors out … and that was _before_ I learned the Patronus Charm'.:_

Harry shrugged, doing a couple of broad loops to relax himself. _:Just because you don't believe me, doesn't mean it isn't true. Though between you and me, I'm still not certain my first catch should have counted, considering the fact that I nearly _swallowed _it.:_ Between the loops and his conversation with Sirius, he almost missed Hooch's whistle. _:All right! Let's go!:_ With a whoop, he dove into the fray.

# # # # #

"I'm going to kill Potter … and Black … and myself." When Albus Dumbledore heard those sentiments repeated, his curiosity was pricked enough that he turned to see who had uttered them, just in time to see Minerva McGonagall, head in hands, preparing to go into a third moaned repetition.

"What have the infamous duo done now?" He asked lightly, eyes twinkling with amusement. "I certainly can't think of anything worthy of suicide. Homicide, perhaps …"

That elicited a short bark of laughter. "Those four – and those two in particular – rarely do anything that _isn't_ worthy of homicide. I never thought I'd say this about any of my students, but … thank _Merlin_ they're graduating this year."

"Ah, but then they can turn their attention to … other matters." Only his concern for appearances kept him from grinning broadly. "I would not be surprised if, in another ten to fifteen years, you'll have to deal with another Potter at _least_."

"Oh Merlin …" She moaned, burying her face in her hands once again. "I don't suppose I could foist him – or her – off on Slytherin?"

Dumbledore's lips twitched. "Really, Minerva. A Potter in Slytherin? The only thing I can think of that would be less likely is a Pettigrew."

"I'm going to die." She raised her head, eyes glinting. "Or I could just kill Potter and Black now and remove the problem before it even starts!"

He tried to keep his face straight, and was _pretty_ sure he managed it. "Ah, yes, and now we are back to where we began. What have those two done now?"

A strangled sound in the back of her throat. "Didn't you notice? They made _Black_ the substitute _Seeker_! Black couldn't catch the Snitch – he couldn't even _find_ it! – if his life depended on it! I'll never be able to look Jeff Vector in the eyes again! I'll be the laughingstock of the entire faculty!"

He patted her shoulder soothingly. "Now, Minerva, I'm sure it's not that bad." _Some people get entirely _too_ into Quidditch …_ "Look – sure, he hasn't caught the Snitch yet, but Mr. Black certainly seems to be doing a fair job otherwise."

# # # # #

_:We'regonnadiewe'regonnadiewe'regonnadie!:_

Harry pulled out of his dive at _least_ twenty feet from the ground, swerving to avoid a Bludger and looping right in front of the Ravenclaw Chaser that currently had the Quaffle, startling her into dropping it. _:Oh, don't be a wuss. I know what I'm doing.:_

Well, perhaps that was overstating things slightly. He _did_ know how to Seek, but this was his first time running interference the way he had been; it was his first time back on a broom in ages and he just had too much energy to be content drifting around above the main action the way he usually did.

He dodged another Bludger, a Beater, and ducked as someone passed the Quaffle right over his head, suppressing Sirius' instinctual attempt to reach out and catch it, then dropped into another angled dive as he caught a glint of gold out of the corner of his eye. Of course, as soon as he turned his full attention toward it, it was gone. A girly shriek from Sirius prompted him to pull up, this time far closer to the ground – he still had the occasional trouble compensating.

_:Are you trying to _kill_ me?:_

Harry rolled his eyes. _:Tch. I've made dives like that hundreds of times. Trust me. Besides, I would have pulled out a _lot _sooner if this broom wasn't an ancient piece of crap.:_

_:Hey! That's a brand new state-of-the-art Shooting Star you're insulting! It's one of the most maneuverable, sleekest brooms out there!:  
_  
_:From the future, remember? In twentyish years, the_ school_ brooms will be Shooting Stars. Believe me – it is definitely an ancient piece of crap.:_ He swore as, once again, he caught a glint of gold, only to have it disappear. _:Now shut up and go away, please. You're distracting me.:_

_:Yes sir.:_ Sirius grumbled. _:Just catch the snitch already, willya? 'Youngest Seeker in a century', my foot …:_

Now _that_ was unnecessary. It was, after all, one of the few titles foisted on Harry that he was genuinely proud of – one of the few he actually felt he'd earned. _:You ain't seen _nothing_ yet.:_

_# # # # #_

Professor McGonagall stared, enraptured, at the sky. "Albus?" She asked absently, "Are there any _other_ Blacks at this school?"

The Headmaster shook his head. "The only other one I can think of within recent times is Orion Black, and he graduated three years ago."

"Ah. Well, whoever that kid up there pretending to be Sirius Black is, I want him. I don't care if he's a _first_ year … he's better than Grey!"

Dumbledore dug into one of his pockets – far larger than they look, of course – and emerged at last with an antique-looking pair of Muggle binoculars. "Hm. I was hoping for my Omniculars … but I suppose these will do just as well." He trained them on the match going on above and, with a bit of luck, finally caught a long enough glance at the Gryffindor Seeker to positively identify him. "This is no pretender, Minerva. The Gryffindor Seeker is indeed Sirius Black."

"No, Albus, it is not." She glared at him. "Tell me, how long have I been Head of Gryffindor? How long has Black been a Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team? How many Quidditch team practices and games do you think I've attended?"

All were obviously rhetorical questions, so Dumbledore merely waited patiently as she took a deep breath, visibly calming herself, and continued. "Trust me, Albus. I may not be the flight instructor or a former member of a national Quidditch team, but if you were to ask Amarea Hooch you'd get the exact same answer. Those are definitely Seeker moves, though executed with a flair I have not previously seen in any but some of the better national Seekers.

"Not that this kid is anywhere near national level yet. In fact, there are moments when he seems barely able to control his broom, over- or undercompensating and the like, and other times when he's just … off. But the _flair_ is there. And I know Sirius Black. He is a Chaser to the bone, though he could probably make a decent Beater or Keeper if he had to. And he flies like one. There is _no way_ in a hundred years that Black could _ever_ fly like that."

"Peace! I believe you." Dumbledore protested. "However …" He paused suddenly. "If it were Potter, I have a suspicion …" He stood suddenly. "I do believe I will go down to the grounds now. I would like to congratulate the winning team … personally."

# # # # #

Harry lost all interest, now, in harassing opposing Chasers and dodging Bludgers. Cranking as much speed into the old Shooting Star as he could, he quickly quartered the field, eyes in that peculiar, slightly out-of-focus 'look-everywhere-at-once' mode he found most helpful in catching any hint of the Snitch.

Meanwhile, the Ravenclaw Seeker still drifted high above the crowd, ignoring, as he had the entire time, his rival's antics. After so many close matches with Cho and Cedric (he pushed _that_ thought away for another time, where he could feel free to fall apart as much as he ever did … again) and Malfoy's habit of tailing him, having a rival Seeker that completely ignored him was … disconcerting. Nice, something he had no scruples about taking advantage of, but disconcerting.

_:He knows I couldn't catch the Snitch if my life depended on it.: _Sirius contributed. _:Though, of course, we don't have any evidence that you're any different yet.: _

Harry reigned in his temper; it was now exceedingly obvious that he was just being baited. _:Oh, forgive me if I was actually allowing myself to _enjoy_ myself for a while. It _is_ the first time I've been on a broom since … last November or so. Forgive me for not being eager to end the experience.: _He caught a glint of gold and arrowed after it. _:… and my life has never depended on catching the Snitch. I _do_ seem to have a peculiar sort of luck that allows me to catch it during other sorts of life-threatening situations, though. Except the Dementor incident.:_

Sirius scoffed. _:How else could a match become life-threatening? – assuming you're not talking about bad Quidditch injuries.:_

_:… there was the professor that was casting a Dark curse on my broom … the Bludger that a house elf enchanted to follow me in an effort to 'save' my life by driving me away from Hogwarts … oh, never mind.: _

_This_ time, the Snitch did not disappear on him again. He got closer and closer, catching up to it as he (somewhat laboriously) duplicated every swerve and dive the tiny golden ball attempted; ducking under a Bludger at one point and catching, out of the corner of his eye, movement as the Ravenclaw Seeker also saw the Snitch at last.

Then he was reaching out, and the elation was there as it had been at every match, the powerful, happy feeling that was the source of his Patronus and the true reason he loved Quidditch so … that rare flash of genuine, deserving pride in himself.

A thought, the tightening of a few muscles in his hand, and the Snitch was captured. For the first time since his death feeling deeply, truly _alive_, he held the Snitch high in the air and rode the wave of Gryffindor cheers.

# # # # #

"You did it, kid!" As Dumbledore approached the now downed Gryffindor Quidditch team, he witnessed the familiar sight of Sirius Black and James Potter jumping up and down, alternately hugging each other and patting each other – _hard_ – on the back, whooping ecstatically. Even though this would be their sixth year on the team, and since joining, neither had missed nor lost a game, as far as after-game celebration was concerned, every victory seemed like their first.

"I told you I could!" Sirius yelled back to James over the cheers of the rest of the crowd. "What, did you doubt me too?"

And as suddenly as that, for no reason that Dumbledore could see (though one he could very easily guess), they abruptly stopped jumping, turning away and putting a little more space between them. "Well, you have to admit that 'youngest Seeker in a century' is a bit hard to swallow." James replied stiffly.

Sirius' eyes narrowed, his arms crossed, and he took a decidedly defensive stance. When he replied, he sounded nettled. "Fine. 'Youngest Seeker in eighty years' is probably more appropriate, now, but excuse me for not counting the years exactly." A glare. "I would not lie about Quidditch."

James glared back. "Oh, and how am I supposed to know that, when you never tell us _anything _about yourself?"

"Refusing to speak is entirely different from lying." Sirius – no, Harry; he knew that beyond a doubt, now – snarled. "Name me _one_ time I've ever lied to you." A brief silence. "Huh. I thought so."

Harry turned, finally catching sight of Dumbledore. His eyes – impossibly, undeniably the same brilliant green as before, though set in Sirius' face – widened, all his anger at James washed away in the shock that froze him where he stood.

Dumbledore smiled, loosening his hold on a small portion of his power, knowing it would give his smile something of a dangerous edge. "Here is one promise you've broken; one way in which you've lied."

Shock disappeared into a flash of cold anger into a carefully blank face. "Headmaster, I'm afraid I have no idea what you are talking about."

Dumbledore nodded slightly in his direction. "The fact that you are here speaking with me is evidence that you broke your promise not to return."

The anger returned. "I never promised any such thing." Harry spat. "I told you that I did not intend to return, and I didn't. I told you that I didn't _think_ I would return, and I _didn't_. _All_ I 'promised' is that I did not _plan_ to return, because I didn't – and _still_ don't – know enough about the curse I cast to be comfortable promising anything more." A rising aura of power made his eyes seem to literally crackle, as if they only barely contained a ravenous green fire. "_I did not break my word_."

Emerald flame clashed with aquamarine ice. "And would you still say the same under the influence of a truth potion, I wonder?"

"No." Flatly. "Because I would no longer be willing to take that potion from _you_. I don't trust you to respect my privacy."

_So it has come to this._ "I don't believe I gave you a choice." Still smiling, still outwardly genial, he inconspicuously raised his wand. "_Petrificus Totalus_."

And watched as the body that belonged to Sirius Black silently toppled over; as the aura of power projected by Harry's anger snuffed out completely and green eyes faded to blue-grey.

# # # # #

Lily Evans enjoyed the concept of flight itself far more than she liked Quidditch. This explains partly why, in fourth year, when James had tried to convince her to try out for Seeker (the position that she was most definitely most partial to, and had always flattered herself by thinking she would not be half bad at, given sufficient practice), she had turned him down flat. Quidditch was something that she would far rather watch than play.

Well, that and the fact that at that point he was not yet her boyfriend; she had actually thought him to be pretty far up on the conceited jerk scale, and she took great pleasure at that time in proving to him that _some_ people did not meekly fall over and worship the ground he walked on.

Still, watching people fly – especially those who could fly well, which Quidditch players almost inevitably could – was almost as fun as flying herself; watching James play doubly so, as not only was he a quite good flier, it gave her a perfect excuse to stare blankly at her boyfriend without being teased by her friends for it.

Not to mention that, after winning – which the Gryffindor team invariably did – James was always so hyped up that their celebratory victory kiss went above and beyond their usual efforts. Enough to make her grin, just in anticipation and memory – though if you were to ask any of her friends (thank goodness Erica was commentating, not sitting with her, or she'd _never_ hear the end of it), they'd probably try to apply the label 'silly, infatuated, foolish-looking' to the aforementioned grin. Honestly, just because she was the only one in her dorm who actually had a _steady_ boyfriend …

Then again, they might actually have something going there, she reluctantly admitted as she descended the stands towards the pitch – and her boyfriend, now that the game was over – below, as she caught herself humming a distinctly silly tune. And stopped.

About halfway down she crossed paths with Peter, strangely alone. It was the first time in quite a while that she could recall Remus missing a game; although neither he nor Peter played, they were both at almost every Gryffindor game, a tradition that she hadn't thought had changed even with the growing distance between the two pairs of Marauders since Harry had entered their life a month or so before. Peter because he, like Lily, genuinely enjoyed watching the Quidditch games in action; Remus more because he felt like he ought to, though that didn't stop him from bringing along a book of his choice in order to not be solely dependent on Quidditch for his amusement for the minutes or sometimes hours that the games lasted.

As she descended the last couple of steps, she was surprised (and, truth be told, a bit annoyed) to find that she was not the first down to congratulate the winning team (and a certain Chaser in particular) – Dumbledore, of all people, had beaten her in that regard.

Except whatever he was offering, it did not seem to be terribly congratulatory. Perhaps alerted by his presence, Sirius and James' little "happy dance" was considerably shorter than usual and, though James relaxed in Dumbledore's presence, Sirius seemed to be having an _argument_ with the Headmaster. She wandered closer, just in time to distract him, briefly, from the topic at hand.

And as Dumbledore's spell struck her fellow seventh-year down, she found herself battered by a nearly physical force of similar proportions as, for a moment, only, their eyes connected and she read desperation in Sirius' face.

In his face and in his green, green eyes, only a few shades darker than her own.

_:Oof!:_ Mere moments after the shock that rocked her backwards, just as she had begun to believe that it had been nothing more than her imagination. _:Where am I now?:_

Lily felt her own eyes widen farther, she thought, than eyes really ought to be allowed to. "Harry?"

_:No, you're just hearing voices in your head.:_ Came the somewhat cutting rejoinder. _:Of course Harry. Now who are y – Lily?:_ Shocked recoil.

"Get out of my head."

_:I don't know _how_ …:_ He protested.

"Well, do whatever it is you did to leave Sirius."

_:But I didn't do any – wait.:_ The shock/horror/amazement/who knows what else was ebbing; she could feel him drawing back in on himself as he regained his composure. She wondered why it had taken him so long – he had done this sort of thing at least twice before, after all; you'd think he was used to it by now. _:I saw you. Right before _Dumbledore_:_ flash of anger/betrayal/contempt? _:shot me – that is, Sirius – with the Full Body-Bind, our eyes met, and next thing I knew, I was flying through… _something_ … and then I landed in your head.:_

"Okay, eye contact. I can do that." There was no _way_ she was going to let Harry stay in her head any longer than necessary. Not only was he a _boy_ –and while she had no basic philosophical disagreement with the male half of the race, the concept of having one inhabiting her _head_ was highly disturbing. Who _knew_ what sort of secrets he'd pick up and probably display to make her the laughingstock of the entire school; it was the sort of thing James would have done in their first six years of school. And she _still_ wouldn't trust Sirius anywhere near her mind.

Yes, not only was he a boy, but she was going home over the winter holidays, and the train was leaving tomorrow. She got _quite_ enough flack from her older sister for being a witch as it was; if Petunia ever found out that she was _really_ hearing voices in her head, she'd _never_ hear the end of it. Ever. Even if the voice was real and had a genuine, provable reason for being in her head; Petunia rarely bothered to concern herself with factual details when there were more _important_ things – such as needling Lily – to be done.

_:Well, at least _that_ hasn't changed.:_ Harry commented, and she cursed under her breath. She had hoped that he hadn't noticed her thoughts … _now_ she thought she rather understood why James had hated having him in his head so much. _:Then again, this universe would have to be _significantly_ stranger before such a thing as Petunia D – Evans, I guess it probably is at this point – actually approving of magic had even a_ chance_ of occurring.:_

Lily blinked, processing the content of Harry's mutterings. _:Wait … you know my_ sister_?:_ She had naturally assumed that Harry knew her and James and their friends – or _of_ them, at least, considering that she and James were evidently due to die in about four years' time – but it had never occurred to her that he might know _Petunia_, of all people.

Then again … he had said he lived with his Muggle relatives at one point. _:Oh, you must live near each other, right?:_

_:Right.:_ He answered; though she thought he was telling the truth, there was … something that assured her he was still hiding something. _:We see each other practically every day during the summer … unfortunately.:_

Well, at least there was _one_ thing they had in common …

# # # # #

If there was one thing Remus Lupin was proud of, it was his ability to reason. It was not mere coincidence, after all, that he had missed breaking the record for the last century by only one OWL, and bid fair to do the same on the NEWTs he would be taking later on in his seventh year.

It was lowering to admit that a certain greasy acquaintance of his _had_ broken that record … but he tried not to think about _that_ particular humiliating episode whenever possible. If only he weren't forced to miss on the order of three days of school most months – for the full moon had a penchant for placing itself over weekends _far_ less frequently than Remus would have liked – perhaps things would be different.

Whatever the truth to that belief, Remus had set his considerable ability an equally formidable task. When Harry disappeared, he had given up the younger boy for lost, content with missing him instead of puzzling over the many mysteries he had presented. Now that Harry was _back_, however … he had decided to try and figure out the mystery that, he suspected, was somehow at the root of them all: Harry's surname.

What did he know about Harry? Black hair, green eyes, a petite build even for his age (though he'd never admit that to Harry's face; his height was evidently a sore point to the former fourth-year), and that odd scar on his forehead. Not that the scar provided any information about his possible parentage, but it was an additional mystery – what possible injury could carve a scar shaped like a lightning bolt into some child's forehead? And it was clearly a scar from some years back, given how thoroughly it had healed.

The only other thing he knew about Harry for certain was his parentage – wizard father, possibly of a relatively prominent family, and Muggleborn witch mother. Also that they were both dead and he was raised by his Muggle relatives, but with the information he had, that was of little to no concern to him – at least as far as figuring out the identity of Harry's parents was concerned.

So, despite feeling like there really ought to be a better way, Remus found himself dragging out the yearbooks of up to ten or fifteen years previous and tallying up all the males with black hair, or green eyes, or that in any other significant way resembled Harry. Well, those yearbooks plus one other.

Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort – or so Harry had claimed. He wasn't entirely sure why he bothered, but he brought to the table at which he had set up shop the yearbook from the 1944-45 school year – Tom Riddle's seventh year, if he had, as Harry had calculated for the old wand seller, bought his wand in 1938.

And there he was. Head Boy, former Prefect, top of his class – Remus found that it had been Riddle's record that Snape broke back in fifth year. Black hair combed back far more neatly than he had ever seen Harry's – _that_ particular birds' nest reminded him more of the way James used to wear his hair before he started noticing girls. Green eyes almost the same shade as Harry's – the first person he had come across whose eyes even approached that vivid hue.

No wonder Harry had made a point of assuring Dumbledore that he was of no relation to Riddle; the two could have been brothers – though not quite twins – with how similar they looked. Sadly, Tom Riddle was the closest match he had come across so far … he had been through about three years so far and found perhaps four black-haired guys, none of whom had eyes even approaching that green and one of whom he knew for a fact was gay. The search for men with eyes of that unique shade was going even worse, as the only one he had seen so far was Tom Riddle.

There were, on the other hand, several young men – black-haired and otherwise – who had eyes of varying other greenish shades; up to and including his friend James, whose hazel eyes became almost green in the right situations.

He paused in the act of tapping his quill against the parchment he had been using to organize his thoughts. James. It actually fit almost creepily well. He was a wizard, from a prominent family no less; his black hair was – or had been, when they were younger – an even closer fit to Harry's than that of the mysterious Tom Riddle; his hazel eyes _could_ be greenish occasionally – and, furthermore, Lily's eyes approached the same shade as Harry and Riddle, and come to think of it hadn't Harry said at one point that he had his mother's eyes?

Lily was Muggleborn, as was Harry's unnamed mother. It would even explain, at least in part, why Harry knew so many of the secrets kept by the Marauders and why he knew so much about what had happened to them in the years following and seemed to feel that their welfare was something personal to him.

'_James Potter'_, he wrote, on the list where he had tallied possible fathers.

But … James and Lily died the night that Voldemort had been temporarily been vanquished; if Harry was actually their son, would he not have died as well? That they had been out, leaving little Harry with a babysitter, was one obvious solution … but that could not be the case if they had been under the protection of the Fidelius Charm; they would have been hidden somewhere, and little Harry would have been hidden along with them.

But even assuming that little Harry had somehow miraculously escaped dying along with his parents (at least according to this scenario), it was still almost impossible to believe that Harry could be James' son. Aside from their superficial appearance and their House affiliation, the two were _nothing_ alike. Although, come to think of it, Remus wasn't sure that he had ever _heard_ Harry state the latter as a fact. They had all just kind of … assumed that the spirit was as Gryffindor as any of them.

Still. Quiet to James' loudness; thoughtful to James' frequent thoughtlessness (the Shrieking Shack … incident … only the last and most serious in a long line of similar displays); his urge to avoid whenever possible the spotlight that James drew to himself as naturally as breathing … James and Harry were as different as night and day.

_Harry Potter?_ Remus snorted, drawing a firm line through that last name and, in a sudden burst of frustration, crumpling the parchment and sending it hurtling through the air (with, of course, impeccable aim) towards the nearest trashcan.

_Harry Potter my foot._

# # # # #

From an entirely different corner, idly watching the young werewolf go about his quest while pursuing research of his own, Severus Snape found his curiosity as to what Lupin was doing growing. Oh, he could go over and ask, he supposed – Harry had changed things enough that the werewolf might even be induced to give him a straight answer.

But that wasn't a very Slytherin thing to do, now was it?

Harry …

His eyes clouded over briefly. Yes, Harry had certainly changed things, hadn't he? Snape had been in the library since early that morning, skipping breakfast as he often did and skipping, with equal lack of interest, the Quidditch match. He enjoyed flying himself, upon occasion, but had little to no interest in watching _other _people fly around, especially when engaging in such an asinine sport as Quidditch.

Acrobatic flight, on the other hand, was far more interesting; not surprising, then, that it was by far his favorite event in the Summer Olympics.

So, in reward for refusing to watch fourteen people fly around and try their best to horribly injure each other for the sake of throwing balls through hoops, he had had the library almost entirely to himself for most of the morning. The first entrance of note had been that of the aforementioned werewolf, who walked purposefully towards a table, dropped his bag, and headed straight for the shelves containing the only complete collection of Hogwarts yearbooks in existence, from when the tradition began in 1798 up through the previous year – the '77-'78 yearbook had not yet been completed.

These were not necessarily yearbooks in the Muggle high school sense of the word; no student was involved in the process of making it except peripherally and they recorded major events that had happened that year as well as all the usual random drek: pictures of every student, sorted by year; members to any clubs and teams; prefects and the Head Boy and Girl. Not having been written by students, however, they were actually quite dry reading, and seeing as they rarely contained any useful information, were one of the least checked out sets of books in the entire library – with the exception of certain parts of the Restricted Section.

So what did Lupin want with them, he had wondered. He ran his quill between left thumb and forefinger, a nervous habit that appeared when he was thinking hard and that he had never quite gotten around to breaking.

"That can't be too terribly good for the quill." A moderately amused voice observed from above, behind him and a little to the left.

_How_ had Lupin managed to sneak up on him so well? He only just barely managed to suppress his instinctive flinch away from the sudden noise. "Oh, like chewing on it is any better? At least this way my mangled quills don't have slobber all over them, too." And vowed to finally get around to breaking that particular habit. If _Gryffindors_ were noticing …

Lupin's eyes crinkled slightly around the edges; he had actually found that comment amusing instead of offensive. _Honestly_ … it made Snape feel like he was losing his touch. "True. Speaking of Peter, has he been by to see you yet?"

Coolly raised eyebrow. "And just why would Pettigrew wish to see me?"

Sardonically. "I'll take that as a no." Snape waited. "I just wondered, because I figured that he was closer to being close to you, and so he might have told you already …" 'Closer to being close'? The Marauders actually telling him something? What in the world was going on? "Harry's back."

With what – if he was not hallucinating – seemed inordinately like a smirk, Lupin surveyed his totally floored countenance briefly (Snape made a point of closing his jaw with a snap) and ambled back to his table, stack of yearbooks still in hand.

The feel of something wet running across his hand had abruptly brought Snape back down to earth, to curse briefly at his quill, which he had inadvertently broken in half and which was now spilling black ink all over both his hand and the half-filled sheet of parchment beneath.

In his scramble to clean, the news was nearly forgotten, but not entirely. The accident did not annoy him nearly as much as it ought to have, for it seemed that nothing could put a dent in his suddenly good mood. His blood sang with elation, a rather unfamiliar emotion that it took him a minute to place. _Harry is back_.

All was right with the world again.

Shaking away the fog of memory, he turned his full attention back to the Gryffindor who had been the bearer of the news, and bit his lip lightly to suppress the triumphant smirk that threatened to appear as the brown-haired seventh-year shook his head, crumpled the parchment he had been scribbling on quite happily only minutes before, and sent it flying towards a nearby trashcan. With a quick spell (tsk. Too bad Madam Pince wasn't around; that tongue-lashing would have been quite worth watching), all the books he had been using flew back to their shelves and the werewolf stood and left.

As soon as he was out of sight, Snape abandoned all pretense of working on his research – it was just extra credit for Advanced Potions, anyway, and nothing he couldn't easily complete in the nearly six days he had left until it was due. _This_ was definitely more interesting. He got up and, deliberately casually, strolled over in the general direction of the trash can, bending as slightly as he could to retrieve the top ball of rejected material and secreting it up his sleeve.

Though as far as he could tell there was no one watching, he continued the charade, walking over to a nearby shelf – believably requiring a path from his table that passed the trash can – and perusing it for a few minutes before finally selecting a volume and strolling back to his table, where he shook the ball of parchment out of his sleeve and unrolled it at last.

His brow furrowed. It was nothing but a list of names, two or three of which had been crossed out. What he could not see, at first, was the reason for such a list, as from what he knew of the few names he recognized, they had nothing in common other than the fact that they had attended Hogwarts within the last fifteen years or so. And even then there was an exception; one of the most firmly crossed out names, Tom Riddle, had attended Hogwarts back in the early forties – there had been a goodly section devoted to him in _Seminal Prefects_, a book he had received from his father and subsequently read upon attaining prefect status himself.

He had taken special note of that particular name; first because he, unlike most of the other prefects in that book, had been Slytherin, and second because the book had been exceedingly vague about just exactly what it was that Riddle had done to receive the Award for Special Services to the school – which was one of the more prestigious awards available – among other things. It was a mystery, and those always sparked his curiosity.

What else had the book said about Tom Riddle? Like moving through molasses, his mind finally offered another clue; something else that had sparked his curiosity about the enigmatic former prefect. Unlike many of the entries in the book, Tom Riddle's appearance had been relatively carefully described. Raven-black hair and flashing emerald eyes … he remembered thinking that it sounded like the description of the hero (or suave villain) out of a trashy romance novel, but now his first thought was that it was also a near-perfect description of Harry.

And that thought sparked others. He ran his finger down the list, and as each name checked off in his mind, his conviction grew. Yes, _every_ name on the list that he recognized had black hair, and many of them had hazel eyes – about as close as one got to that particularly brilliant shade of green unless one was Harry, Tom Riddle, or the Evans girl. So. _T__his_ was what the werewolf had been spending his time on – trying, unless Snape mistook his guess, to figure out what seemed to be the question of the day: Harry's elusive last name. And going about it in a manner worthy of a Ravenclaw, even.

Of course, he wasn't too terribly surprised. Lupin was perhaps the only one of the so-called 'Marauders' with the intelligence to do so; Potter and Black would take the Gryffindor tack, demanding that Harry _tell_ them, whereas Pettigrew would be more likely to follow his family's tradition and take the Hufflepuff way out, placidly waiting until Harry was 'ready' to tell him.

And perhaps Peter had the 'right' of it, but that was too passive a plan for Snape – or, it seemed, Lupin. The Gryffindor way, of course, was doomed to complete, utter, and humiliating failure; Snape had noticed in Harry a stubborn refusal to reveal his secrets – and an impressive ability to avoid doing so – that was only one of the reasons that he felt Harry would have made a good Slytherin. A true waste, that.

Still, for taking the Ravenclaw approach, Lupin certainly hadn't done a terribly good job at it. Snape could think of at least three reasons per person just why that particular person could _not_ be Harry's father. All except Tom Riddle – that one fit best of all; the only reason he could come up with was the fact that Harry had said that was not his last name.

Which, in that case, was certainly reason enough, though he still wondered why Harry had bothered? Well … Riddle had not had any children as yet that he recalled – or, if he had, they had not attended Hogwarts – so perhaps Harry had gone to school with one and they had always been getting mixed up, so he felt he needed to make the distinction up front?

And then there was the final name, for which at least a thousand reasons came to mind. Perhaps Harry and Potter looked vaguely similar. And just maybe he might have thought at one point that Harry's manner while charming Moaning Myrtle bore a certain similarity to Potter's. But otherwise. No.

In comparison to his usual efforts, Snape's current sneer was a sight to behold – and scurry away from before one was unfortunate enough to actually attract his attention. _If Harry's a Potter, I'm a pink elephant. _Pause. _Truly. That incident back in fourth year doesn't count._

With glee sharpened by righteous disgust, Snape balled the piece of paper back up and muttered a spell that burnt it with a fire so hot that it flared to ash before the table beneath had time even to scorch. _Harry Potter? I haven't heard anything that ridiculous since Evans finally put Potter out of his misery and agreed to date him. The only thing going for _that_ particular theory is the fact that the universe, I'm sure, would just _love_ to make it so that I _still _owe my life to a Potter._

Shaking his head, his brief foray into sneaking over with for the nonce, Snape turned back to his project with a mental injunction to _really_ work on it this time. Yet, almost as soon as he got properly into it, he was once again interrupted – this time by the sudden awareness of a person standing beside the table, patiently waiting to be acknowledged.

Well, two could play at that game. Without even the slightest glance upwards to discern who, exactly, was standing over him, he began intentionally to ignore him or her. It would be interesting to see how long the other's patience would last.

A full five minutes passed, surprising him – he had been betting more along the lines of three – before the silence was broken. "All right, you win. The Headmaster wants you in his office."

His head – and eyebrows – shot up. _Pettigrew? I suppose that explains the patience._ "One moment while I pack up, and I'll be right with you."

The blond shook his head, thin braid swinging. "Don't bother. I'm not supposed to go back up there, just send you along." A hint of bitterness in his voice.

Despite himself, Snape could feel his eyebrows draw together into a thoughtful frown. _Now why would Dumbledore do that …?_ "I see." Even though he didn't.

Although he himself had pointed out that he need not stay, Peter still loitered as Snape finished packing his work back into his bag. "If … if this meeting is about …" _Harry_ was the logical end to that statement; so apparent it need not be said. "Oh, right … you do know that –"

"He's back?" Snape cut in. A short nod. "Lupin told me earlier."

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Snape acknowledged the fact that it could very well be. Peter, after all, was clear as glass in his loyalty to the spirit; he, on the other hand, being Slytherin, might very well have been assumed to be at the very most neutral, considering that Harry was Gryffindor. _Despite_ the fact that he was the one Harry had chosen to give his wand, and the fact that he had been around and relatively supportive during both of the major meetings between Dumbledore and Harry that he knew of … perhaps Dumbledore was so blinded by the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry that he didn't see that Snape's … oh, friendship, he supposed, if he must … with Harry transcended that boundary.

Or perhaps Dumbledore was smarter than he was giving him credit for being, and had another reason for requesting his presence entirely. The only way to find out, really, was to go. Besides, if the Headmaster was calling a meeting that excluded the visibly pro-Harry students … it was infinitely better to be in on the planning than to be caught by surprise in the aftermath.

Pinning Peter with a searching gaze, he nodded, quickly, once. "I'll let you know."

4 July 2003  
21 September 2011  
5 September 2012


	9. Chapter 9 - Interlude

Okay, this chapter took a while. Part of it was deciding just how much I wanted to include. Finally, I decided that I'd let Harry have a bit of a break and get back to seriously torturing him _next_ chapter. Well … as much of a break as having to deal with both Lily _and_ her family can be called …

I'm sure there's something subtly wrong about posting something associated with Christmas at the beginning of August. *pauses for a moment* Eh, at least it's still winter in the Southern Hemisphere.

Harry, Lily and Petunia don't belong to me, though I think I'll try to claim at least partial ownership of Lily's parents, considering that I'm the one who gave them actual personalities. *eyes approaching mob of lawyers* Or maybe not.

Find Our Way Home is an absolutely wonderful song (I sing its praises. Lalalalala~) that you better believe does not belong to me. My creativity is confined to the written word, not such beautiful ear-candy as this song. It actually belongs to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra (I sing their praises too. Lalalalala~~!). And anyone who knows of it and wants to contest me by pointing out that the CD was not released until 1998 and thus Harry could not have possibly heard it …

Well, I doubt that PS2s (or whatever it was that Dudley threw out the window) existed in 1991 either. Just bear with me.

(10/26/2012: more random minor edits)

# # # Chapter 9 - A Christmassy Interlude # # #

"Is everything all right, Lily? You seem quieter than usual …"

She shook her head. "Yes, mother, everything's fine. The last couple of days have just been a bit … eventful."

"Oh? What happened?" Her mother asked; a bit distantly since most of her attention was on the road.

"Anything we'd understand?" Her father qualified, humor lacing his tone. He had adjusted perhaps best to Lily's magic; where Petunia sniped and spat and her mother did her best to pretend that the school she spent ten months of the year at was just another boarding school, her father had taken a genuine interest in the wizarding world.

_Well, I currently have the spirit of a teenage boy who hasn't even been born yet trapped in my head._ "I'm afraid not, Daddy … it's kind of complicated."

"Aw, did poor wittle Lily have a fight with her _boyfriend_?" Petunia sneered from the opposite end of the back seat – ever since Lily got that letter on her eleventh birthday, her sister had made a point of staying as far away from her as possible, except when close quarters was required for some inevitably nefarious pursuit.

_:She _does_ seem to be of the opinion that magic is some sort of infectious disease.:_ Harry observed, almost clinically. Lily fought to suppress a snicker. _:And I'm afraid she gets worse as she gets older, not better.:_

_:Good thing I'm not around to witness it, then.:_ Lily replied flippantly.

She was surprised by the burst of very real pain that lighthearted comment caused. _:Don't _say_ that.:_ Harry pled. _:I'm hoping that this time around, things will be just different enough …:_

_:Okay! I take it back. Sorry. It was just a joke …:_

_Why does it _matter_ so much to him?_

# # # # #

"So, tell us about what you've learned so far this year." Lily's father prompted as they sat down at dinner that evening.

"Well … my Head Girl duties keep me pretty busy; even busier than I was as a prefect, since I now have to preside over them in addition to the more usual duties. I'm still first in class in everything but Transfiguration and Potions, though."

"No." His eyes were unnaturally wide. "Lily Evans not the top of the class in absolutely everything? Say it isn't so!"

She giggled. "It's no surprise, Daddy. James has always been better than me at Transfiguration, it's just that until recently I've been getting better grades because I actually bother to turn my work in –but this year he's been better about that, so I've lost my edge."

Petunia sniffed. "Sounds like a lazy bum to me."

"Oh, like you should talk? Considering that lard ball you have as a boyfriend … of course, I suppose you had to settle for what you could get."

"Petunia!" "Lily!"

They exchanged mutinous glances and muttered "Sorry," – while their eyes promised anything but – in unison.

"So, is James also your superior in Potions?" Her mother prompted, a vaguely uncomfortable look on her face at the decidedly unusual class name.

Lily laughed. "Are you kidding? James is … decent, I suppose, at Potions. But I'm certainly a great deal better – and I actually try on the assignments, whereas I sometimes think he makes his up in the five minutes before class starts. No, the only one ahead of me is one of the Slytherins, Severus Snape."

"Slytherin – that's the house with all the pureblood Neo-Nazi types in it, right?"

"Yeah." Lily replied, proud of her father for remembering. "I swear, if a wizard with Muggle blood ever _did_ get sorted into that house, he'd probably be run out of the school within the first week."

_:Hardly.:_ Harry snorted. _:In fact, I can name one very famous half-blood that lasted all seven years. Prefect and Head Boy, even.:_

_:Really?:_ Lily asked, skeptical. _:Who?:_

_:Tom Riddle.:_ When that provoked no noticeable reaction, he sighed audibly (well, audibly to her, at least) and prodded, _:Lord Voldemort?:_ At the thrill of shock that ran through her and temporarily deprived her of thought, he sighed – even more loudly – and gave her the impression that he was rolling his eyes. _:You-Know-Who …?:_

_:Yes, I realized that was who you were talking about.: _Lily snapped, before choking as the actually message finally hit her brain. _:No way! Mr. I-Hate-and-Want-to-Kill-All-Muggles is half-Muggle _himself_?:_

_:Quite ironic, is it not?:_

_:I don't believe it.:_

The impression of a shrug. _:That's your problem. Ask the headmaster, though – I bet he could give you several more examples in addition to confirming that one.: _A sigh. _:Really, it's just one more of those misconceptions about that house that I paid homage to when I was alive, but am now beginning to think are nothing but a crock of bull.:_

She became aware of someone pounding her on the back. Petunia, of course; she took great joy in pounding Lily's back far too hard, without Lily being able to effectively protest to their parents. Her deep dislike of being near Lily, as had already been noted, did have the _occasional_ exception. "You okay?"

Lily waved as she caught her breath. "Yeah, I'm fine. Something just … went down the wrong way, I guess." _:Don't _do_ that to me.:_

_:I wasn't _expecting_ you to react that violently.:_

_:Are you_ kidding_? Finding that out would be like … like finding out that Hitler's mother was _Jewish_!*:_

# # # # #

"Close your eyes … or whatever the equivalent is … _now_."

_:Haven't we been over this before? I'm _not_ going to look.: _Harry grumbled. _:It wouldn't kill you to trust me – or at least trust that I'm honorable enough not to look – just a little. You're beautiful and all, but I have absolutely no interest in seeing you naked.:_

"Good. See that it stays that way." And she did not feel at all insulted by that assessment. Her feminine pride was not pricked even the slightest bit by Harry's emphatically complete lack of interest in her.

And even if it was – just a little – she was certainly entirely too intelligent to acknowledge it. Once she was certain that Harry had metaphorically turned his back, she stripped and got into her pajamas more than twice as fast as she would have if she hadn't had a boy stuck in the back of her head.

Even though Harry was being amazingly good about the situation – despite his occasional grumbles, he had never yet failed to "look away" when she told him to, and if he was peeking, he was doing so unobtrusively enough that she couldn't tell – he was still a _boy_, and the sooner she got him out of her head, the better.

Except she had met the eyes of practically everyone at Hogwarts – with the exception of James, who she wouldn't inflict with Harry again for anything, not even to get him out of _her_ head, and Sirius and Snape and Dumbledore, who she hadn't been able to find that entire evening – and absolutely nothing had happened … and in the morning, what with having to finish all the packing she hadn't had the time to do the night before, there had been no time and Harry had been quiet enough that it had quite slipped her mind. So, for the moment, she was stuck with him.

She snuggled under her covers, letting out a deep, heartfelt sigh. Somewhat disconcertingly, she could feel that sentiment being echoed by the voice in her head. _:I didn't know …:_ the voice murmured, yawning, _:… that there were Muggle beds that could feel this good, too …:_

# # # # #

The moon shone through the window, bathing the desk with its dim silvery glow as she slipped silently out of bed. For a moment, she cocked her head, listening for any sign that the other inhabitant of her head might still be awake. Nothing.

She looked back at her bed, a frown passing briefly over her face as she considered Harry's offhanded remark from hours before. It was really nothing special, as far as beds go. And having been left uninhabited for four months or so, in addition to being nothing special, it was also somewhat dusty and even a bit lumpy in spots. What sort of place had Harry lived, that he even _considered_ placing _this_ bed in the same realm as the ones at Hogwarts?

She could not imagine Petunia living any way other than affluently, especially if she _did_ end up marrying that lard ball boyfriend of hers – she had heard (from Petunia, who absolutely loved bragging about such things, even to her much despised sister) that he was fairly loaded, and it's not like they weren't set up to inherit a reasonable amount as well. So, barring the bank dying or something of that nature, her sister (and herself … not that it would have mattered) ought to be pretty well set up for life. And Harry would live near Petunia, which means that he, too, would be living in a relatively affluent neighborhood.

So … why the bed?

She shook her head. Speculation was not helping anything, only confusing her and wasting time. Probably his parents were just cheapskates or something. She moved over to the desk, silently pulling open the drawer and drawing out a sheet of parchment, ink, and a quill. Habitual movements, familiar from all the summers she had spent on her homework, requiring little to no thought.

Freed, her mind returned to its previous occupation, much to her annoyance. Usually she'd be in bed, asleep, dreaming sweet dreams of James … but then Harry had to come along and ruin it all.

She had seen how James treated Sirius when (presumably) Harry had reappeared in Sirius' head; more than anything, she did not want to be forced to face that cold rejection as well. It was funny … for a long time, she would not have given a rat's ass for what James thought about her or how he acted towards her. In fact, she would have been decidedly and aggressively uninterested. Yet … somewhere along the line, things had changed.

Now, she wasn't entirely sure she could live without him. And she knew that she wouldn't want to. That was, perhaps, the only comforting thing about Harry's revelation. At least, if they were to die as they had in Harry's world, as he (and she and James, too, of course) hoped they would not, at least they would die together. If James was not to survive her, she wanted more than anything not to be the one to survive him.

Picking up the quill, she idly twisted it, staring out the window with blank eyes for a time before suddenly snapping back to the present, dipping the quill, and setting it to paper.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore …_

# # # # #

"Black!"

Sirius turned to see – of all people! – Snape hurrying his way. Well, not precisely hurrying … he was still gliding in that odd walk of his the way he always did. But he was gliding considerably faster than usual. "What do you want, Snape?"

The black-eyed Slytherin examined him wordlessly for a moment. "I just wanted to say … thanks. I admire the way you protected Harry from the truth potion that night."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sirius grimaced at the memory. Those had _not_ been the most fun hours of his life by any stretch of his imagination. And he still wasn't entirely sure why Dumbledore had targeted _him_ … wasn't it obvious that Harry was no longer around?

Another, closer look. "Harry's not in there anymore, is he." The sneer Snape had already worn – given that he was talking to a Gryffindor in the first place – deepened. "Figures. I should have known that being that decent was out of character for you."

"_You_ are lecturing me on being _decent_?" Sirius laughed in his face.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Screw you, Black."

He turned and walked away.

# # # # #

Lily was hiding something.

Harry was sure of that; she was keeping entirely too tight a lid on her thoughts, tighter than before. There was something hidden, something that she desperately didn't want him to see. But what?

He shook his head. _You're reading too much into things, Po-Harry._ Even in his derisive thoughts, he had to be careful; though some of James' comments had given him the impression that his shields were usually far better than those of the person he set up shop in, there was still the possibility that something might slip through. And he hadn't come this far to lose now simply because he called himself a fool just that little bit too loudly.

_She's a girl, right? I'm sure there are _thousands_ of things that she doesn't want me to know. And frankly, I'm not sure I would _want_ to know them._ Like … fantasies about James. Ew. _That_ brought up mental images he certainly didn't need – and far too many of them. And that was just the _first_ thing he could think of that she might be hiding.

He was better off not knowing.

Harry was finally pulled – somewhat thankfully – from his reverie as, across the breakfast table from their body, Lily's father _(his grandfather, though he knew he shouldn't be thinking it, should avoid the thought, much like his last name, at all costs, but oh, if meeting his father had been a letdown, meeting his grandfather had been everything he had dreamed it might be … even if it wasn't a real meeting, just to see him and hear him was enough …)_ leaned forward. "Are you sure you're doing all right? You're still being unusually quiet."

He could feel Lily's lips quirk with the reluctant amusement she was broadcasting (to him, at least). "For some reason, I get the oddest feeling that I've had this conversation before …"

A level look. "And you avoided the question, both then and now." He leaned back in his chair. "It's just you and me, you know – your mother took Petunia out shopping earlier. So you needn't fear your sister's ridicule." An earnest look. "And if it really is boy troubles, just let me know and I'll start polishing my shotgun now."

"Boy troubles?" Lily snorted before she could stop herself. _If only you knew._ "Not … exactly. James has been just as much of a sweetheart as he always is."

A mock-suspicious glance. "I see. Considering how much you complained at me about him before last year, I'd say that's pretty bad. Shall we go shoot him now, or later?"

"_Da~ad!_"

# # # # #

_:Do you not pay any attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts, or is your teacher just horrible?:_

Lily looked up from her essay to glare at the wall, as if imagining Harry's face was painted there. "What's so wrong, O Wise and Knowledgeable _Fourth_ Year?" The sarcasm dripped.

_:That sentence. 'The Unforgivable Curses are called that for several reasons, one of which being because they are impossible to block or defend against.' Pfeh.:_

"Well, they are. And what would _you_ know about it?"

_:No they're – well, the Killing Curse and maybe the Cruciatus I'll grant. But anyone can throw off the Imperius if they try hard enough.:_

"Really. Then why did neither the text nor the professor say anything about that?" Among the things Lily liked least, having her academic knowledge challenged – especially by someone who so obviously _had_ to be less knowledgeable than her – was high on the list. She knew there were people smarter than her and people that knew more than her, but she was not used to running into either (with the exception of her teachers), and certainly could not accept such a possible superiority from someone three years younger than her. Even if he was a ghost from the future.

_:One's an idiot and the other was written by idiots seems to be the most logical conclusion.:_ Harry returned with infuriating calm. _:Besides, I thought that the Unforgivables were supposed to be covered in sixth year. What're you doing, not getting to them until the middle of _seventh_?:_

She flushed. "Okay, we're a little behind, but that's not Professor Wood's fault! We had a streak of pretty bad teachers for the last few years; we've had to spend a lot of time catching up."

_:Hmm. I'd think that the Unforgivables would have made it a little earlier on the curriculum, though, considering the times. I mean, sure, you're still students, but that doesn't always mean that you won't encounter that sort of situation.:_ He shrugged, and his tone was tinged with an edge of wry humor that she didn't quite understand the reason for. _:I can tell you're going to ignore me. Go ahead. Just … remember for future reference. In case _you_ are ever subjected to Imperius.:_

"Like that'll ever happen." She scoffed, and turned back to her essay. She had more important things to do than listen to the ghost of a fourth year.

# # # # #

"So how does this flying-on-broomsticks thing work?" Her dad asked. "Can it be any old broom? Or does it have to be one of those special, sleek brooms like we saw in that one shop?"

Lily considered. "I don't know, actually. The brooms made specifically for riding are the only ones I've ever really used. I'd think that you could use any old broom, though the others have lots of useful charms on them – for cushioning, balance, that sort of thing …"

_:I'd guess the same, though I've never tried it out either.:_ Harry volunteered, after Lily had carefully _not_ asked him. As far as she was concerned, the argument over her essay on the Unforgivable Curses was just the latest bullet on her 'Why I Want Him Out Of My Head Now!' list. Not only was he a teenaged boy of dubious ethical persuasion, he also had an annoying tendency to act like a know-it-all whenever he thought he knew anything about a subject.

He got it from his mother … but that's rather beside the point.

With a growing grin on his face, her dad took his hands from behind his back – one of which just happening to hold the broom that her mom used to sweep out the kitchen and garage every week or so. "Care to test that hypothesis?"

She suppressed a groan at the enthusiastic look on his face – the look that she had never quite managed to build a defense against. Knowing her dad, he had probably been plotting a way to ask her this since the first time he saw a broomstick shop. _I should have known …_ "Sure. Why not." She fell into step behind her father as he led the way out into the backyard. "Hey … just how long are Mom and Petunia planning on being out shopping, anyway …?"

He threw a guileless smile over his shoulder. "Why, most of the day, now that you mention it. Are you trying to imply something, dear daughter of mine?"

Lily just shook her head, smiling fondly – and was surprised to find that 'fond smile' emotion mimicked by her fellow mental resident. _:He's like Mr. Weasley and his plug collection.:_ Harry laughed softly.

About to take offense, Lily was distracted. _:A … _plug_ collection? Who'd collect plugs?:_

_:Ah, but they're so fascinating, with their ability to … um … do _something_ related to eckeltricity, you know.:_

Harry was obviously mimicking someone; Lily, who had encountered the same sort of wizard cluelessness towards the facts of Muggle life was hard-pressed to keep herself from giggling. It was one of the few times they were in complete accord, as they laughed at the faults of the world that both had been unexpectedly been thrust into.

"Go ahead and put it on the ground." She instructed her father. "It's one of the first things we learn in flying class, how to call our brooms to our hands. If this can't do that, I probably won't be able to fly it, either."

As he obediently laid the broom on the grass, Lily held her right hand over it, finding that odd mental focus necessary. "Up!" The broom jumped into her hand, though she had not truly believed it would, but there was something wrong.

Her hand was smaller, and the small braided ring she wore on her left middle finger – a friendship gift from Erica that they had exchanged in second year – had disappeared. Her head, too, felt oddly light … almost as if all her hair had been abruptly chopped off.

She raised the broomless hand to look more closely at it, opening and closing it experimentally. Except it wasn't _her_ mind ordering the movements anymore.

"Who are you, and what have you done to my daughter?" Carrying quiet, latent threat, though not yet visibly angry.

Harry lifted his head, pinning the man with green eyes that were probably, to his eyes, the only familiar thing left to this young man that had so suddenly stolen his daughter's place. He chuckled nervously. "Um … boy troubles?"

# # # # #

"So you're saying your name's Harry, you got sent back here from the future to take up residence in my daughter's head due to a misfired spell of some sort … and you're dead."

"That covers most of it, I think." Harry, leaning against the broom, sighed silently in relief. Thankfully, Lily's father had decided to hear him out instead of going for the previously threatened shotgun. "But the spell didn't misfire – it worked _exactly_ the way I wanted it to. It's just that the information I had never specified what the consequences were for the caster."

"Then why on _earth_ did you do it in the first place?" The older man demanded. "Surely you could have researched more … found a safer alternative. Something that didn't … well, it sounds like effectively suicide, even if it didn't work out that way exactly."

"I did _try_ to research it more. But that one scrap of parchment was literally all I could find on the spell. I suppose I might have been able to find more in the Restricted Section, but good luck trying to convince a teacher to give me a note allowing me in there legally. And I learned the hard way first year that trying to sneak in is _not_ a good idea, after the first book that I picked up started screaming its head off."

Harry shrugged. "And, well … we've been at loggerheads ever since I entered the Wizarding World. With him trying to kill me practically every time I turned around … I kinda started feeling like it was my duty to get rid of him. This spell was the perfect opportunity and" another shrug "it's not like there were too many people that would miss me."

Lily's father – and Lily herself, listening carefully from her prison inside their mind – was considerably taken aback by this cavalier attitude the young man in front of him was taking toward his own life. "What about your parents?"

"Dead." As if to stave off any pity, he added, "Since I was very young. I hardly remember them at all."

"Who did you live with, then?"

"Aunt and uncle." Shortly. Then, a pointed glance. "And don't even try with them. They've always been highly disappointed that I haven't somehow managed to off myself during the school year; I'm sure that now that I have, they're ecstatic."

"And your friends?"

Harry's face twisted. "Two good ones. Now them … they're the only real reason I hesitated as long as I did. They'll miss me … probably more than I miss them, and that's a lot. But better their grief for me than for their families or other friends or the families of others, or even each other, because Voldemort continued unchecked." _And the rest of the wizarding world will 'mourn' my passing, I'm sure … and good riddance. Perhaps now they'll learn to take care of their _own_ problems instead of placing them on the shoulders of a one-year-old child!_

"I think you underestimate your importance to them."

"Perhaps." He thought of the many arguments they'd had, of how long Ron had been hateful towards him simply because he was he was jealous of qualities Harry would have happily disposed of himself. He had no doubt that Ron and Hermione would miss him – despite all the arguments and breakups, whenever it had really mattered, they had been there for each other, and they had always gotten back together. But he doubted it would be as bad a situation as Lily's father seemed to be trying to imply. They still had each other, after all. They'd survive, go on with life … maybe even forget him, someday.

The dark auburn-haired man heaved a giant sigh. "No matter what I say, I'm not going to convince you that you shouldn't have done that, am I?"

Harry had to work to suppress his smile at the man's dramatic overacting. "No, sir." He waved his hand, as if searching for the correct words. "I … whether you believe me or not, whatever you think, I felt it was my duty to take down Voldemort. So please don't fault me for taking the opportunity when it was handed to me to do what I thought was right."

"When you put it that way … well, I still think it's not right to load a person your age with that amount of even imagined responsibility, but I suppose I'll stop trying to convince you otherwise." He reached over and ruffled Harry's hair. "And no 'sir's, please. My name's Thomas."

Seeing an opportunity to use that age-old gag, Harry smiled mischievously. "Yes sir."

# # # # #

After a bit of trial and error, it was determined that Lily could take control back – and that their bodies would shift to reflect that change – once the broom was removed from his/her hands. Placing it back in their hands caused them to shift once again.

This determined, father and daughter (and grandson, even if neither of the others knew it) decided that perhaps they'd finish the experiment another time and, nursing cold faces and fingers, turned back inside to continue over a nice mug of hot chocolate.

"Well … having a boy stuck in your head must be a rather unique experience. Too back my trusty old shotgun won't be of much use in this case." Thomas Evans winked.

Lily stared deep into her mug of chocolate for a long moment before grudgingly admitting that he had really been quite a gentlemen about the whole thing. "In between the snippy remarks."

The auburn-haired man eyed his daughter knowingly. "For some reason, I'm getting the idea that you don't like Harry all that much. Why not? He seemed like a rather nice young man to me."

"… Dumbledore doesn't trust him." She finally offered, unwilling to admit that her main objections were relatively nebulous and, in their most articulate form, resembled nothing so much as a six-year-old shrieking about getting cooties, combined with the sort of codependent whiny girl she had seen occasionally in romance novels and sworn that she would never act like.

_:Because I'm unwilling to tell him my _goddamn_ surname.:_ Harry snarled in the back of her head, surprising her – and most likely himself – with both the obscenity and the depth of feeling backing it up.

Somehow sensing that this was a slightly … sensitive topic, Lily's father smoothly switched topics. "I assume Harry's the reason you've been somewhat … spaced out at times since you came home. And the reason you've been quieter than usual."

Lily nodded. "It's very aggravating. If I'm not talking with him, I'm generally stuck musing over … certain other things that he said before. It's like having an annoying little brother sitting on my shoulder 24/7."

"What sorts of other things?"

Silence.

"Come on, Lily … I promise I won't get mad …"

Her eyes had turned away from her mug, but they still looked determinedly anywhere but her father. "Well … you know James? Supposedly, the two of us _do_ get married, sometime in the next four years …"

Stony glare. "_Not_ before you both finish school, I hope …"

She smiled weakly. "I think even James and I can manage to hold out at least another six months, Daddy."

"Good." Her father relaxed back out of what she fondly referred to as 'shotgun mode'. "Well, good! I'm sure your mum will love the opportunity to pull together a wedding. … Though I'm afraid I sense a 'but' in there somewhere …"

"Butaboutfouryearsfromnowwe'llbothbekilledbyYou-Know-Who." She muttered, still avoiding looking at her father.

"… What?" Her father was unfortunately skilled at interpreting her rapid-fire mutters. "Lily, look at me …"

"I …" she faltered. "It might be different now; Harry said there were a lot of differences between now and what he knew of his history. … But, where he comes from, James and I … die … a little less than four years from now."

"Over my dead body!"

That gave Lily a horrible thought. _:Harry … my parents do live, right?:_

_:As much as I'd like to say something reassuring … they've never visited your sister, so … I doubt it.:_

"What is it?" Thomas asked suspiciously, as he saw his daughter's face fall even further.

"I'm afraid … that might actually be a relatively accurate statement." She knew better than to lie to her father – he could always tell when she tried. "Harry lives … lived … near Petunia, and he said he had never seen you visit …"

Somehow, the knowledge that her family would die as well hit her harder than the thought of her own death, and she found herself on the verge of tears.

And that was the situation as Lily's mother and sister trooped in, loaded down with bags from their (evidently quite lucrative) shopping trip. "… and I don't see _why_ I can't go out with my friends tomorrow night." Petunia whined as they entered the audible range.

"It's Christmas Eve, dear. Perhaps if Lily had decided to remain at that school of hers … but since she's home, we're going to stay home and celebrate the holiday as a _family_."

"But …"

"End of subject, Petunia. You can go out with your friends another time."

Petunia entered the room first. "So you're finally up, I see. Too bad you missed our shopping trip; we had loads of fun." She gloated, making sure Lily knew exactly how _not_ sorry she was. "Then again, with such a lazy bum for a boyfriend, it's not surprising that you'd begin picking up some of his habits …"

Glare. "I guess that means you'll start putting on the pounds any day now." Lily sneered back.

"Lily!" "Petunia!"

At least there were some things that never changed.

# # # # #

Contentment.

It had taken him a while – especially as he kept getting distracted by Lily's snores – but he had finally found a name to put to that unfamiliar feeling that was welling up in his heart.

So Petunia was a bitch. He hadn't really expected anything else. And somehow, from this vantage point, it didn't seem so bad, more like ordinary sibling rivalry than the unabashed disgust that she lavished upon both him and the memories of his dead parents. Plus, the jabs that Lily aimed at Vernon were a real treat to hear – finally, someone who shared his opinion of the man!

And perhaps Lily's mom wasn't quite as supportive of her daughter's chosen path in life as she could have been. She still loved her daughter and made sure that Lily knew it; she'd still be there for Lily when it counted. A far cry better than anything that he had ever had.

But her father … for that, he was tempted worse than ever before to let his identity slip; for he wished more than anything that he could acknowledge his relationship to this man. He had a wonderful sense of humor, was protective of but not smothering towards his children; even when faced with a ghost that was evidently possessing his daughter, it had taken him only a few minutes to regain his equilibrium … after that, Harry felt almost as if he was part of the family.

It was something he had been introduced to by the Weasleys, but this version was infinitely better, because here, there was no doubt in his mind that he belonged, even if he was the only one who ever knew.

There was a song he had heard a bit of once, as Hermione tried to explain to Mr. Weasley how exactly a cassette tape player worked. Softly, so as not to wake Lily, he hummed it, feeling this strange … contentment … growing.

_For we all seem to give our lives away  
Searching for things that we think we must own  
But on this evening  
When the year is leaving  
I think I would be alright  
If on this Christmas night  
I could just find my way home …_

And who knows … perhaps, somehow, in some strange way … he had.

1 August 2003  
2 October 2011  
6 September 2012

*Quick note: Well, _someone_ didn't pay much attention in history class – though it was actually Hitler's grandmother that was thought to be Jewish. Just in case anyone didn't know that – or thought I didn't and was about to correct me. :P Yes, it turns out that chances are low that things actually happened that way, and it's probably just an urban myth … but it would be _so_ deliciously ironic if it were true …


	10. Chapter 10

Um … you know, the thing about college is, the work isn't quite as hard as I was afraid it would be (my brain hasn't spontaneously combusted yet! ^^), but it's a whole hellalot more time consuming. I spend less time in class than in high school, but probably three times as much time on homework.

I need sleep …

So, yes, that's my little halfwitted roundabout way of explaining why this chapter is so abominably late. I've almost decided to give up on my so-called deadlines altogether … except for the fact that they _are_ helpful. Sometimes. Even if they don't necessarily seem that way.

You may notice that there are no review answers at the end of the chapter. I _am_ continuing to do them; however, I suspected that the chapter was slightly more important and thus, assuming my university's network actually lets me upload this now (*grumblemutter*), I figured going ahead and posting the chapter itself would be preferable.

*yawns* HP doesn't belong to me. And if it did, just now, I'd probably trade it in for the opportunity to get in even two more extra hours of sleep at night. But there's so much else to _do_ . . .

(9/21/2003) Gah! *flails about* Thank you, all you people who have reviewed this chapter already - you inadvertently pointed out a very stupid mistake that I had made. For those of you who have read this chapter already, the only real change I have made is in the date at the end of the chapter: it was supposed to be December _24_th.

(10/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

# # # Chapter 10 # # #

"Psst! Hey, Harry, wake up …"

"G'way Ron … lemme sleep …"

"Watch where you're swinging that thing, kid! You nearly took my head off!"

Slowly, through sheer force of will, Harry forced himself awake. A comfortable bed … Ron trying to wake him up … had it all been just a dream? Wait, kid?

Of course, at about that point, he opened his eyes on a face that was decidedly _not_ Ron's. "Mr. Evans?"

"Ssh!" The man put a finger to his grinning face. "Do you want to wake everyone else up?"

Harry sat up all the way, pulling the broom onto his lap. Peering at the man through one slit eye, he dryly observed, "Considering that even Lily's still asleep and it's only barely beginning to lighten outside the windows, I really don't want to know what time it is, do I?"

"Most likely not." Lily's father admitted unrepentantly. "But I wanted a chance to speak with you alone."

Harry settled himself in for the long haul. "Oh dear. That sounds … ominous."

That brought a grin to the man's face. "Oh no, nothing like that. It's just … I was digging through some of my grandmother's old stuff last night … and since it is nearly Christmas and all …" He cleared his throat, and suddenly stuck out his hand, a tiny, wrapped box sitting in the center. "Take it. It's an early Christmas present."

"But … you didn't have to …" Harry spluttered as, seeing that he was making no move to take the box, Thomas firmly deposited it in his hand. "I don't …"

"It just made me think of you; it's more a spur-of-the-moment thing than a _real_ present … go on, open it!"

"But …" One last protesting look; futile, from the determined cast to Thomas' face. With a sigh, he gave up, and began the laborious process of carefully unwrapping the gift.

It was … a small box. And inside that box, a ring that made his fingertips tingle when he picked it up to look at it – making sure to keep the other hand on the broom at all times, of course. What seemed at first to be an almost braided-looking pattern engraved in the silvery ring turned out to be, at closer look, delicately wrought scales. On opposing sides of the ring were two snake heads, each swallowing the other's tail. Underneath one snake's head, engraved on the inner side of the ring, Harry thought he saw a letter … perhaps an 'S'? … but it had been considerably worn away.

He cautiously slipped it onto his right ring finger, then gasped as it shrank to fit. "Where –" He squeaked, shook his head, continued, "– where did you say you had gotten this, again?"

Thomas looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Well, my grandmother passed away a while ago and, for some reason, felt that I should be the one to inherit her coffers of jewelry. I go digging through there every now and then, just for fun – it's kind of amazing, the wide variety of gaudy cr – stuff she'd managed to gather over the years. Mostly buying it cheap from pawn shops, I'd guess."

Harry rubbed his thumb against the ring, again feeling that tingling sensation. "Mr. Evans …" he began slowly, "… I'd suggest that you introduce Lily to these coffers sometime. Soon. Make her sit there and go through everything with you."

"… all right. Why?"

"This" he held up his right hand "is of magical origins. If your grandmother was as Muggle as you – and I'm assuming she was – that means that she unintentionally bought at least one magical artifact out of a … well, wherever it was that she bought it, chances are very good that she also bought other magical things. This appears to be harmless … but some of the other stuff might not be."

He looked slightly shaken. "I'll take that into consideration."

Rubbing his thumb on that ring, Harry noted, could very quickly become an exceedingly bad habit of his. "But now … I don't have anything I can give you …"

"That wasn't the point, you know. You don't have to give me anything. I just gave that to you because it reminded me of you … and because, especially during this season, I wanted to make you feel like a part of the family, especially since you don't have a family of your own."

"But I still feel like I ought to give you something too." Harry argued.

_A family of your own …_ The phrase echoed in his mind, and he suddenly knew exactly what present he could give. "Mr. Evans? I think I do have a present for you after all … but you must promise not to tell another living soul. Not your wife, or Lily or Petunia, or any other wizards or witches you may run across … _no one._"

"Why the secrecy?"

"Because it's something I don't want to become general knowledge. At least … not yet. I probably shouldn't even tell you … but … I feel like you can keep my secret." _And I want to tell you … oh, how I want to …_

"Is it a harmful secret?"

"No!" That, Harry didn't even have to consider. "In fact, keeping it is probably doing _me_ more harm than telling it would; it's certainly not hurtful to anyone else."

Thomas could probably see Harry's desperate wish to tell almost as easily as Harry; he finally nodded. "I swear on all that's holy to me …" the flash of a grin "… and my hope of someday seeing Hogwarts, that I will never tell your secret to another soul without first gaining your express permission."

Harry took a deep breath, and prodded very carefully at the back of his head. The little Lily-bubble shifted slightly, then returned to snoring. She was still asleep. The silence stretched, until finally, he broke it. "Potter."

"Lily's boyfriend?" What did that have to do with anything?

"That's my surname. I was christened Harry James Potter, first and unfortunately only son of James and Lily Potter."

"My Lily?" The girl's father mouthed, inordinately shocked. Somehow, it had never quite occurred to him that he might actually _be_ part of the spirit's family.

Harry seemed to be trying to hide a smile. "Yes, your Lily." He assured Thomas solemnly.

"I'm … a _grandfather_?"

Suddenly all traces of the smile were gone; quite evident hesitance took its place. "If you'll have me …"

_That's right … he's an orphan, isn't he? And from what I gathered yesterday, his home life is probably not all that great either … he may very well be _used_ to being rejected …_ That, right there, was more than enough reason to Thomas to make sure that this world was different. Perhaps it was too late for this Harry … but he would not let his daughter's son grow up in a loveless environment if there was anything he could do to stop it.

"Of course." He poured all the conviction he had into those two words. He reached out and gathered the younger man – still a boy, really, despite the age that showed in his eyes – into an intentionally stifling hug. "Welcome to the family, Harry."

…

"Ouch! Watch where you're swinging that thing!"

# # # # #

"It's snowing!"

Harry grinned silently as he watched his grandfather dance around the room like a child in a toy store. He then stood, reveling in the feeling of standing on his own two feet, in his own body again, if only for a little while, and meandered over to the window. "So it is." He agreed peacefully.

"Well, aren't you excited too? I thought everyone loved snow!"

"It's nice enough, I suppose." Indeed, he now had memories, _good_ memories, of playing in the snow with his friends at Hogwarts. It went a long way in making him revise his opinion of the substance upwards. But they say first impressions are the ones that count most …

Even now, in an ordinary, decidedly non-Hogwarts house, standing there next to his grandfather _(his grandfather!)_, buried deep beneath the contentment, he could feel the old claustrophobic sensations squeezing at his abdomen. To him, for many years, all snow had meant to him was the fact that he was essentially trapped inside … with Dudley.

And even those few times he managed to escape outside, well, Dudley certainly hadn't chased him (too much work, slogging through the snow and battling the cold), but with the sort of clothes he had always worn – not, by any stretch of the imagination, suitable for a great deal of wear outside during the winter – it had been only a short time before he was forced to return inside.

Still, he forced himself to look outside, to watch the near-wall of white falling and to remind himself of the good times. He was safe here, in Lily's house. There would be no one chasing him out into the snow, here.

"… Why?"

_I knew it._ Harry didn't even bother to use the obvious stalling technique, 'why what?' He knew what Thomas meant … and knew that even if he stalled, Thomas was persistent enough that he'd get an answer out of him eventually. "Because …" he tried, and failed, to organize his thoughts and feelings into something coherent, explainable. "Just because."

"But your last name … it's an indication of your family, of a part of who you are." He shook his head. "I just can't see why you'd be so eager to throw that all away."

Harry sighed, turning to perch on the desk, beginning to twist his ring. "Lily and James died when I was one, and I was sent to live with Petunia. Because of my name, because of 'who my family was' – or, more specifically, _what_ – she and her husband hated me. For ten years I was the freak child, son of two good-for-nothings who were stupid enough to drive drunk. … That's the story they told the neighbors."

His eyes pierced Thomas. "Then, when I turn eleven, I discover a whole new world that I never even suspected existed. Magic was beautiful, wonderful … I was on cloud nine. But," he made a chopping motion, "I still had to return 'home' " the word was invested with such depth of negative emotion that Thomas had to control himself to keep himself from recoiling, "for the rest of the summer and every succeeding summer."

"Furthermore, the wizarding world itself did not turn out to be quite the paradise I was expecting it to be. Expecting to be just another wizard and perhaps, for the first time in my life, actually fit in somewhere … I found myself accorded the status of a child celebrity – I, in the minds of the people of the wizarding world, had saved them all."

He shook his head. "I knew _nothing_, yet they expected me to know everything, to be some sort of miniature god … either that or they blamed me for the disappearance of their Lord and were out to kill me." A grand gesture. "All because of my name. All because I was, not just Harry, but Harry Potter."

"Can you really blame me for wanting a break now that I'm dead?"

"It seems to me, though, that you've gotten into nearly as big a fix by not telling your last name as you used to be in due to it."

"But even so … even with all the suspicion, I'm still free, don't you see? No one looks at me anymore and wipes a tear from their eye, saying 'Oh, you're just like your father' … no one expects me to be anything like him." He ran his hand through his hair and, in the same motion, suddenly made sure to pat down his bangs. "You probably think the expectations associated with being James and Lily's son from the future would be an easier load to bear than the suspicion I'm currently under … but I don't."

He idly drew a smiley face in the condensation on the window pane, in some odd way welcoming the freezing feeling that overtook his fingertips near to the point of pain. "The way I see it, this is a chance for me to be taken as myself. If Dumbledore now thinks I'm a dark wizard intending to take over the world … so be it. Better that he think that honestly than be influenced into believing I can do no wrong simply because I'm the son of his Golden Boy."

"Furthermore, once my name comes out, so too will my past … and everything that comes with it. I don't know that I can face that again, not now that I know what it's like to be without the adoration, the publicity … the constant stares …"

"Why? Whatever you did, it happens years from now. Why do you think anyone will care?"

"Because my celebrity status was never about what I _did_, not really. It was about what I _was_. You see … Lily and James died …"

"… But I lived."

# # # # #

Christmas Eve.

Like the Christmas season in general, Harry loved it … but didn't always like it all that much. The juxtaposition of the good memories of recent years with the earlier bad ones – which he could never quite convince himself _weren't_ the way things were supposed to be – always left him feeling rather confused.

Occasionally glad that usually at least one of his friends went home, so that he'd have that small bit more solitude than usual to wrestle with his feelings … and, in truth, the relative solitude made him feel more comfortable because it was closer to "the way things ought to be".

The warm closeness of a single family Christmas Eve was entirely new to him from either direction. He basked in the warmth, aware of Lily's curiosity but feeling too contented to really care.

Between the niceness of the evening and the feeling of a certain catharsis – he hadn't realized just how much the secrecy had been weighing on him until he noticed how much better he felt now that Thomas knew – even Lily's ever-present niggling suspicion of him and the fact that he couldn't be a _real_ participant in the evening's activities could not put a dent in his mood.

Of course, he ought to have known that thinking thoughts and feeling emotions like that was the surest way to ruin an otherwise idyllic situation. It almost never failed.

Dinner was long over, they had just finished singing carols around the tree – Petunia, who evidently found this activity juvenile in the extreme, with a mutinous look on her face. Thomas turned to his daughters. "Well? You know the rule – one present each. Which shall it be?"

This, evidently, was another long-held family tradition … certainly _not_ one Petunia was even tacitly objecting to, though. For the first time, Harry was distinctly reminded of Dudley as he watched Petunia dive into the pile headfirst, carefully judging each present. He almost expected her to burst out with a _"But I had one more _last_ year!"_, the resemblance was so strong.

Except she still managed to be more polite about it than Dudley ever had been.

Urgh. Just thinking about the lard ball was giving him a headache. And here he had hoped that dying would have allowed him to escape from the Dursleys for good at last. At least he didn't have to deal with Petunia directly. She was definitely more bearable now, but there were still some very obvious personality traits that remained the same.

Odd, that he could find it within himself to forgive and even make friends with the boy who would later be, arguably, directly responsible for the murder of his parents, yet not the woman who had played an integral part in his life for ten years.

Lily had finished unwrapping her first present, a tiny, very intricate lily that looked like it was made to attach to a charm bracelet – one of which, come to think of it, Harry was pretty sure he remembered hanging from something or another in Lily's room. He could feel her cheeks heat up; it was obviously James' gift.

_:What are you so happy about?:_ She asked; one of the first times she had actually deigned to speak with him at any length the entire day.

Harry was feeling contented, yes, but he had been like that all day; it was certainly nothing worth remarking upon by now. Yet … bubbling up in the back of his mind, now that Lily had brought his attention to it, clashing with his feelings of peace, was a fierce, triumphant joy. One that he found disturbingly, frighteningly familiar.

No _wonder _he had a headache!

_:Lily. Go grab a broom. Now.:_

_:Why?:_ She asked. _:It's not like you have a present to open under here, so what's the point in exposing yourself to Petunia and Mum?:_

Had he been corporeal, Harry would have closed his eyes and counted to ten. Very quickly. _:Look. If you won't let me take control, then at least _please_ go to the front door and check around outside for me.:_

_:Why?:_

_:Because … there's no time to explain. Just do it!:_

_:Oh, come on. Who would be out in this neighborhood at _this _time of night?:_

Harry literally growled. On the verge of launching into a furious diatribe, he froze as the doorbell rang. His headache had been increasing – focused, of course, in a particular spot on his imaginary forehead – and the feeling of triumph was growing. _:Never mind, don't go to the door after all. Turn off all the lights and pretend you're not home.:_

Petunia, still carefully detaching the paper from around her present (another way in which she diverged from Dudley's behaviour, to Harry's relief), didn't even bother to look up. Thomas looked like he was about to rise when Lily, perhaps infected at last with Harry's sense of urgency, sprang to her feet. "I'll get it." _:I don't know what you're so worried about, but surely it can't be that bad.:_

_:Do you have your wand?:_

_:Of course. What, did you think I would have left it at Hogwarts?:_

_:Where is it?:_

_:On my bedside table, where it's been all vacation. Where else?:_

_Oh crap …_

Lily opened the door, coming face to face with a tall, hooded man. Shaking the hood back, he revealed slick black hair, green eyes that somehow managed to hold a demonic edge, and a slowly growing smirk. "Well, my friends, look what we have here. A fitting end to a perfect Christmas Eve, don't you think?"

Unconsciously mimicking Harry's thought of only moments before, if for a slightly different reason, Lily stumbled back and gulped. _Oh crap._

# # # # #

Between the black cloaks and Lily's reaction – he had _never_ seen her as afraid as this of anything or anyone – Thomas took only moments to deduce that this was the notorious Voldemort. He looked … younger, more handsome and more all-around human than the Muggle had expected. Then again, his vivid imagination had managed to invent something more embarrassingly similar to the monsters hiding under the bed that he had been afraid of as a child (he wondered, did they actually exist?) than any humanoid being had any right to be, anyway.

There were four black cloaks other than the man he assumed was Voldemort; most likely the favored few in this case. All four had their wands out, two pointed at Lily, the other two in the general direction of the rest of the family, gathered around the tree. Anger boiled in him, a fury that was rooted in his feelings of helplessness. He would die, as would his entire family … and for what? The _amusement_ of a megalomaniacal monster with delusions of grandeur?

The central man himself brought out his wand in a leisurely fashion, waving it lazily in Lily's general direction. "_Imperio._"

_/"The three Unforgivables? What're those?"_

"_Three spells that guarantee you a life sentence in Azkaban – far worse than death, to my mind – if you're caught using them." Harry shuddered. "I already told you about the Killing Curse. The other two are the Imperius Curse and the Cruciatus Curse. Cruciatus inflicts horrendous pain and Imperius allows one total control over the mind of one's victim."_

"_As far as I know, the Imperius is the only one that can be fought off. It just takes strength of will … and the unwillingness to stay under control even when it's so nice and peaceful that way. No worries. No cares. Just peace."_

_And looking at Harry, Thomas had to wonder if the young man had ever experienced 'just peace' in his life. /_

The feeling of helplessness grew, as he watched his daughter fall under the spell without pause. Could she fight off the Imperius, when this was the first time it had ever been put on her? Did she even know that it was possible, as Harry had claimed it was?

_Harry._ Determination washed away the helplessness when he realized there _was_ something he could do. For, as Voldemort ordered Lily to kill them – her own family! – and she turned, eyes blank, to do just that, it seemed less and less likely that she would be able to effectively resist. _But Harry could._

He ducked in through the kitchen door, thankfully not too far, hating every moment that he felt he was betraying Gladys and Petunia by leaving them to face the controlled Lily alone. Casting around the kitchen, he found the supplies closet, reemerging with broom in hand. Sure in his faith that Harry would be able to do what Lily, it seemed, could not and get them out of this mess … because without that faith he had nothing, no hope left.

_What if Harry hadn't been here?_ Suddenly, Thomas was sure he knew exactly when and where he and his wife had died … and considering where that led, to Lily's death and a situation for Harry that, even from what little he had gathered, was completely untenable, he was more determined than ever to find some way to survive.

_For all our sakes … I hope Harry can pull this off._

# # # # #

He was drowning again, smothered by that sensation he had hoped he would never be forced to feel again. Powerful, much more powerful than ever before – he had made a mistake in assuming that this Voldemort's power levels would be the same as those of one only newly reborn after being almost completely out of commission for thirteen and a half years. Even buffered by Lily's presence – for it was quite obvious she was bearing the brunt of the spell – he could very easily feel the difference in just the strength of this one spell.

It had taken him a bit longer, then, to regain his senses as he struggled against the tempting peace that he knew in his heart could not – could _never_ – be real, but he managed in time to hear the order that he had _known_, and feared, that Voldemort would give. In time to feel the body he inhabited moving forward mindlessly … for, indeed, Lily's mind seemed to have totally disconnected from her body; she instead seemed to be quite involved in a dream involving herself, a field of flowers, and, of course, James.

He threw himself against that dream, hoping against hope that he could somehow penetrate and snap her back into sense. Wishing there was something he could do as he found himself trapped, helpless, with no way out. About to murder the one person he had trusted everything to, who was so much more than a mere relation to him. So it would not be his fault … so what? The death would still rest on his conscience, so very heavily …

The way his post-death experiences had been so far, possibly for the rest of eternity …

But Thomas was escaping, dashing into the kitchen. One of the Death Eaters – the one to his right –evidently had hair-trigger nerves; a flash of red light struck the corner of the door only moments after the older man passed through it. _Go._ Harry thought, desperately. _Let _your_ death, at least, be put off until another day. Don't return … please don't do the 'honorable' thing and return …_

Of course, around that point, he remembered something he had previously chosen to forget: the kitchen had no doors that would open to the outside.

Then Thomas was coming back out of the kitchen again, poised in front of wife and other daughter, a broom in his hands.

A broom.

Could it be …?

Indeed, he threw it in Lily's direction; Harry's heart leapt … only to fall to his metaphysical feet when, not having been ordered to, Lily didn't even attempt to reach out, just let the broom bounce off and clatter to the floor. _So close …_ So perhaps he wouldn't be able to effectively stand up to Voldemort either – and certainly not without his wand. At least he wouldn't be so thrice-damned _helpless_!

"What a … deliciously quaint idea." Voldemort's hated voice, as if through an aural fog. "Child, why don't you pick up that broom your father so nicely gave you and kill him with it?"

_Yes!_ Thomas smiled slightly, and Harry, unconstrained by the need to think about controlling his face, let loose a brilliant grin. _You just screwed yourself over again, m'Lord._

Now that hope was returning, so were ideas. By the time Lily had completed the motion of picking up the broom, Harry already had a plan in place and ready. As soon as he gained control, capitalizing on the confusion his presence caused, Harry swung around, stabbing the Death Eater to his right with the tip of the broom handle as hard as he could – _serves him right, trying to curse _my_ grandfather!_ – causing the man to double over and drop his wand … a wand that Harry was more than happy to pick up.

He knew he couldn't face Voldemort _and_ four Death Eaters, by himself, with any hope at all of winning. Yet how could he call in backup? What backup _could_ he call in, considering that Dumbledore might decide that he had also been 'lying' about his hatred of Voldemort?

And then, of course, it came to him. He remembered the World Cup the previous summer; if people had reacted so quickly _then_, during a time of supposed _peace_ … Grinning at Voldemort – and hoping the pain flaring from his head didn't distort the expression into too much of a grimace – who was only just beginning to erase the evidence of astonishment in his expression, Harry raised his wand – well, fine, the Death Eater's wand – high.

"_Morsmordre!_"

"What did you do that for?" Voldemort hissed. "Who _are_ you?"

Despite the far greater power, Harry somehow found it nearly impossible to be afraid of this man who didn't even look like the monster he was inside. His lips twitched. Maybe he could blame the adrenaline. "Hello, I'm Not Stupid. Pleasure to meet you."

Behind him, his heart warmed as he heard Thomas laugh. At least _someone_ had found it funny. Then again … as he watched Voldemort's face grow almost literally fuschia in rage, it occurred to him that that might not have been the brightest idea ever. "Kill him." The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed as he ordered.

_That_ was going entirely too far. Harry stepped back, crossing his arms defiantly – though he made sure that he kept a firm grip on both wand and broom. It wouldn't do to lose either at this stage in the game. "Over my dead body." He replied coldly. _Let's just ponder the relevance of that statement some other time, okay?_

This made Voldemort laugh. "You think so, do you, boy? _Imperio_."

It was as bad as he had been afraid of … or perhaps worse. Lily, who had only just been beginning to rouse from the daze induced by both the remnants of the Imperius Curse the change had broken and the abrupt change itself, was instantly sent back to dreamland. An interesting effect of the curse, he thought; it was actually rather interesting to see how different people (or at least, _a_ different person) reacted to the curse differently.

He was submerged for a moment, the pull of peace too strong. _But … I knew when I cast that curse that I could be consigning myself to an eternity of unhappiness. I knew that and I accepted it. It would tarnish what I did before if I were to succumb now. _And then Voldemort made his second fatal mistake – ordering Harry to kill Thomas.

_Like bloody hell I will!_ He came roaring out of the curse, shattering it with a vengeance. Pivoted slowly on his toes to once again face Voldemort. "Like I said. Over. My. Dead. Body."

"That can be arranged."

"I'll see you dead first." Harry smiled calmly. _You're certainly never going to see my dead body . . . and I've already seen you dead once. I'd say that puts me up one, greater power or not._

"A child like you, defeat me? Do you not know who I am, foolish boy?"

Harry smirked. "Oh, I know exactly who you are, Tom Marvolo Riddle."

The man froze. "Who. Are. You?"

"And wouldn't you like to know?"

"Amazing. I never thought the day would come when I again agreed with Mr. Riddle about anything." Dumbledore walked down the stairs, power streaming around him in a tightly controlled aura.

_:He came!:_

Harry closed his eyes briefly. It seemed he had underestimated Lily … he never would have believed that she could hoodwink him so completely. _:How very Slytherin of you, Miss Evans.:_ He lilted, doing his best to mimic Professor Snape at his most disdainful.

_:Do you think you could hang around a few minutes after you're expelled from my body?:_ She asked sweetly. _:Because as of right now, I'm getting the oddest urge to punch you.:_

"Well, well. What do we have here?" Voldemort looked like he was contemplating rubbing his hands together in maniacal glee. "Is the mysterious child not in good with the Headmaster of Hogwarts? And here I had you pegged for a perfect little Gryffindor Golden Boy."

"Don't worry, Voldemort. My hatred for you _far_ outstrips any distrust I might have for our esteemed Headmaster." A look. "Of course, you must understand that at this point, I trust the Headmaster about as far as I could throw a Bludger."

"Pity. I admire a certain amount of spunk."

Harry let his disgusted expression do the speaking for itself. "I don't suppose it occurred to you to bring along a few Aurors, Headmaster?"

_:Honestly, what sort of crap reaction time is this? The Dark Mark has been floating in the sky for at _least_ five, ten minutes now.:_

_:Is _that_ what that incantation you said means? How did you learn it? You really _are_ Dark, aren't you?:_

_:Yes, I heard someone else use it, and no. Grow up, Lily.:_

"Why would I do that? I certainly wasn't expecting you to be entertaining more visitors." Barmy old coot time. Harry and Voldemort shot him identical looks of disgust – possibly the one thing they did agree on.

"So what's your favorite color, Voldemort?" Now it was the Dark Lord and the Headmaster staring at Harry like he was absolutely nuts. He shrugged. "What? Just trying to make conversation."

"You're stalling."

A wintry smile. "What was your first clue? I'd think that would have been the obvious conclusion, after you saw me shoot the Dark Mark."

"So _that_ was your plan. And here I thought you were simply acting like a fool Gryffindor, challenging five powerful adult wizards."

Harry twirled his stolen wand mockingly. "I don't know. I'm just counting four, right now."

"Ingenious. Are you sure you wouldn't consider …?"

_:You're going to become a Death Eater and kill us all!:_

_:Shut UP, Lily.:_

"Let's revise my earlier statement. Over _your_ dead body."

"A pity indeed." Voldemort shrugged. "Well, such is life. Perhaps you ought to remember to factor in the appalling response time of Aurors next time. They usually appear around half an hour after we finish cleaning up … such as we ever do."

Still the wintry smile. "I'll remember that next time."

Voldemort glanced at the clock. "However, it seems that even that oh-so-generous grace period is rapidly winding its way to an end. So with that, I shall bid you adieu."

"You never did tell me your favorite color." Harry interjected swiftly.

"You never did tell me your name, you annoying little brat." Voldemort mocked.

They stared at each other.

Glared. One could almost feel the sparks jumping between their eyes.

"Burgundy." "Harry."

"What, no last name?"

"I don't see you exactly parading your own around, Riddle."

"Touché. Well, Harry, I'm sure I'll see you around."

"Maybe, maybe not. But I can guarantee you won't escape that round nearly as unscathed at this."

"How odd. That was exactly what I was about to say to you."

They shared highly insincere smiles. "I'm looking forward to dancing on your grave, Voldemort."

"In your dreams." And he disappeared. As if they were taking that as a cue, the four Death Eaters Apparated away as well – one of them, Harry noted gleefully, still without his wand.

And, at last, Dumbledore turned his full attention to Harry. Feeling that he had had enough confrontation for one night, the black-haired former-Gryffindor took the easy way out, and let the broom fall.

# # # # #

In retrospect, Harry admitted, relinquishing control had not been one of the brightest ideas he'd ever had. He'd forgotten – again – that Lily was evidently quite deep in cahoots with Dumbledore as far as he was concerned.

Leading to his current situation: immobilized, one hand trapped around a broomstick so that there was no chance of ducking out again; watching as the Headmaster approached him with a small vial of clear liquid that he would have bet his life was a truth potion of some sort. Veritaserum, perhaps? It did look a lot like the vial Professor Snape had threatened him with earlier in the year.

Well, there was _one_ benefit, at least, to this situation. He waited quietly, knowing he could hardly do anything else, for Dumbledore to finish putting the three droplets on his tongue. Unexpectedly, he felt his mind filling with fog … almost as if it were the Imperius Curse in liquid form, ordering him to tell the truth.

Except this was a variant of the Imperius that he had no experience in, or even idea how to, combat. Still, he hung desperately to those few scraps of his mind he _was_ able to retain, remembering that there was something he had to say. "I … swear …"

But curses, it had come out so faintly that he doubted anyone had heard, and for the life of him he could continue no further than that.

"What was that?" Dumbledore asked.

_Score!_ For the first time in quite a while, Harry felt a burst of fondness for this Headmaster. "I swear that I mean no serious harm to Hogwarts or any of its inhabitants." He had done it! The thought would have brought a smile to his face, had he not been so far under. _Debate _that_, you old coot._

"I see. Well, to business. State your name."

"Harry." Another burst of pleasure. He had done it! It certainly wasn't a lie, after all … and he actually saw himself more as Harry than he had ever truly identified himself with this Harry Potter person, so in a way it was actually more truthful than the literal truth.

Somehow, he got the idea that trying to figure out that particular conundrum would make his head hurt even if he wasn't trying to strain to keep as much control of himself as possible and suffering under the lingering remnants of his scar headache.

Dumbledore examined him through narrowed eyes. The twinkle was still there, oddly enough … it only served to focus his expression even further. "Why is it that you are unwilling to tell us your last name?"

"I don't want to." Also perfectly true, and perfectly unhelpful. This stuff, while hard to circumvent, to think through, was not impossible. Harry suspected it was not Veritaserum after all, considering that he had heard that resisting _that_ was completely impossible.

The Headmaster seemed to abandon that tack for the moment. "I have been curious for quite a while … how did you know about the Chamber of Secrets?"

Okay. That was a hard one. "I … in my second year, the Chamber was reopened. I recognized some of the signs." _I _so_ do not need him finding out that I'm a Parselmouth. _

"And when you said it was safe again?"

"Oh, that. I took care of the problem."

"That's right … what exactly _was_ that little book you incinerated?" A new voice. Had he not been so doped up on truth potion, Harry would most likely have jumped as Snape leaned forward out of the shadows near the wall. They were not so deep, after all … by all rights, he should have noticed the Slytherin a _long_ time ago.

"A cursed diary containing the memories of Tom Riddle, created, I think, shortly after his opening of the Chamber of Secrets in his fifth year."

"So he was the one who did it!" Dumbledore crowed. "I don't suppose you have any proof?"

"Just my memories … and no, there is no way in hell I'd willingly let you get your hands on them." _The whole Heir to Slytherin debacle … oh yeah, that would go over _real_ well._

"We shall leave that particular conversation for another time, then." The silver-haired old man agreed genially. "Now. You _will_ tell me your full name."

_No!_ Behind, he thought he could see Snape mouthing 'I'm sorry'; the Slytherin looked the picture of someone unbearably frustrated by their helplessness, and he longed to reassure his (somehow, as strange as it seemed) friend-of-sorts that he did not blame him … it would be foolish to betray his allegiance now, when the shock value might be far more effectively put to use at a later date and when there was, at the moment, nothing he could reasonably do.

_Gee, Harry, are you sure you were put into Gryffindor to begin with? For hardly associating with him at all, this time around, Snape sure seems to have rubbed off on you, hasn't he?_

He could feel his mouth opening and intensified his struggles; there was no _way_ he was going to let his secret slip. Not now, like this, after all the effort he had put into keeping it.

"Harry Ja-" With a final, desperate heave, he wrenched himself up, out, and away. _:_So_ sorry Lily … looks like you won't get that chance to punch my face in after all.:_

And the world surrounding him swirled and disappeared.

This time, when he reappeared in a different place in independent ghost form, he didn't even bother wasting the time to be surprised at the fact that he was once again not quite yet consigned to whatever he assumed would be his eventual, final fate. Instead, he scoped out his surroundings.

The sky was quite dark, in a threatening-rain sort of way; needless to say it fit Harry's current mood rather well. The surroundings shot a thrill of adrenaline through him at first … he wondered if he'd ever again be able to see a graveyard without remembering the events of _that night_. Yet this was not _that_ graveyard, so after a moment he relaxed.

It was a rather morbid thought, he admitted, but he actually felt quite … at peace here. He would not want to remain here forever – he somehow got the idea that he would be violently allergic to peace in too large of doses – but it was a nice respite.

He sank to only a couple of inches above the ground, idly twisting his ring –a shadowy version of which, he had been ecstatic to note, had made the change with him.

Slowly, his eyes focused on the gravestone directly in front of him. Again, it was morbid – he had had enough contact with death firsthand that he really didn't want to add to his pain by knowing about yet another death. Yet … with the gravestone sitting right there in front of him, he found it nearly impossible to _not_ read.

The twisting of his ring slowed to a stop as both hands fell slack to his side; his eyes filled with spectral silvery tears that he refused to shed.

_Thomas Michael Evans_  
_August 12, 1939 - December 24, 1977_  
_Beloved son, husband, and father_  
_Rest in Peace_

21 September 2003  
8 January 2004  
2 October 2011  
6 September 2012


	11. Chapter 11

*checks watch* Two months and a week. Seems like the only thing even my tentative deadlines are good for is breaking … *sweeps shattered remnants under rug* *grins sheepishly*

Hopefully, I'm on track enough now that this won't happen again … *looks nervously at homework/final projects/finals looming ahead*

As you might have/will notice, I have once again foregone answering reviews in favor of actually posting this chapter today. I _will_ answer them eventually (and the ones from last chapter, too), but …

Anyway, since I won't be giving individual responses just yet, a great shout out to all of you! Thank you for your time and patience and I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much as the others.

Harry Potter does not belong to me.

(11/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

# # # Chapter 11 # # #

"Potter?!"

He remembered that voice, though it seemed like years since the last time he had heard it; unlike Dumbledore's, it had changed quite a bit over the years. The pure astonishment in the tone surprised him, on some level – somehow, it had never quite occurred to him that _this_ Snape might have enough of a heart left to care enough to be surprised.

The dichotomy in the way he viewed the Snapes of the different eras he had found himself caught up in, he realized, was outmatched by perhaps only two others: Dumbledore and Wormtail.

Somehow, though he knew that his Dumbledore would most likely have reacted in much the same way as _that_ one, given the way he had been acting … when it came down to it, Harry also knew that _his_ Dumbledore had been there for him all the times that had truly counted; not trusting his Dumbledore would be even more foreign to him than trusting the other would be.

And Wormtail … there was literally no comparison. Peter was a good person, through and through; gentle but fierce when provoked by what he saw as slights to his friends or injustice of any sort. _Wormtail_ … he still couldn't think that name without an accompanying rush of hatred; he had effectively completely dissociated the two.

"Professor Snape?" He mimicked back tiredly. "Why are you here?" He finally looked up, in time to catch the odd spectacle of the Potion Master making an abortive movement of some kind before, with a resigned expression on his face, he sank to the ground. _That_ provoked a thrill of déjà vu down Harry's spine, as it was almost exactly the same motion a younger Severus had used in an out-of-order girls' bathroom … it seemed a lifetime ago.

"Still as spoiled as ever, I see, forcing me to sit down so that I can see your face." Snape grumbled. A long pause. "… I came to apologize." He inclined his head towards a rather larger headstone off to the left of Thomas', the ground before it bare except for the well-cut grass that grew everywhere, and a small beige urn.

_James and Lily Potter_

"Feeling guilty because you failed to save my life this time?"

"Thank you for rubbing it in, _Potter_."

Harry twitched. "That's not what I meant. I was trying to get you to see that you were being foolish." He rolled his eyes. "Come on, Professor, be happy! The worst you have to worry about now is trying to cram a suitable knowledge of Potions into hundreds of snotty little brats' brains."

Suddenly, he had a picture of himself trying to convince Lily that you really could fight the Imperius Curse, and how she had just shrugged him off. Okay, so yes, he _was_ younger and (supposedly) less knowledgeable than her, but still … "On second thought, Professor … I'm sorry I killed Voldemort so soon. I'm sure you would have enjoyed the break."

That startled a bark of laughter out of him, and Harry grinned in response. _There_, another bit of the young Severus glinting through for a moment. "Sarcasm, Potter? I never would have thought you capable of it."

And as quickly as that, it was gone. "You don't seem to have ever thought that much where I was concerned." His voice took on a mocking lilt. "Potter's son – and obviously just exactly like him, too. Gryffindor. Famous. Snotty brat and spoiled beyond belief – _must_ be, after all. Excuse me while I go save his life … _again_."

"_Potter_ …"

"For heaven's sake, Professor, could you _please_ not call me that? If it just hurts your sensibilities too too much to call me Harry, then just call me 'Boy' or something." His lips twitched as he caught another sudden stray memory. "Of course, I answer to such gems as 'evil raving maniac spirit', too, if that's more to your taste?"

# # # # #

"Did you know that man is your grandfather?"

Harry bit his lip, trying to use the physical pain to push back the emotions threatening to batter down all his carefully built walls. Again. "Yes." He said quietly, holding his hand a little bit above the headstone, pretending for a moment that he was touching it. "Yes, I did."

"He was … a very good man. It's a pity you never had a chance to get to know him." Snape offered awkwardly, in deference to the obvious, if somewhat hard to understand, grief that the young boy felt.

"Yes." Harry agreed, his voice still soft and distant. _So few days … what went wrong? Voldemort was routed, at least temporarily; surely Mr. Evans would have been sensible enough to relocate elsewhere for a while … and Lily came back to Hogwarts …_

"He … died well."

Harry's head snapped up. "You were there?!" He could not hide the shock in his voice.

Something indefinable passed across the man's face. He reached over to put his right hand over the underside of his left forearm. Harry pulled his legs up underneath him until he floated, cross-legged, about two feet above the ground, and tried his hardest to hide the pang of disappointment he felt upon learning that his conjectures had, in fact, been proven correct. "Is it even there anymore? Now that Voldemort is gone?"

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about." Snape replied, suddenly stiffening; his hand moving smoothly down his arm almost as if he had been only brushing lint off his sleeves, nothing more.

"Well, I think it's pretty obvious that _Lily_ didn't invite you home with her." Harry inserted bitingly.

The older man gave him a strange look. "What are you babbling about now, boy? Evans stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas that year. I should know; the hysterics Potter went into when she accepted his proposal were impossible for anyone to miss." A sneer.

Harry snickered. Then fell solemn. "Still, wasn't it even just a bit nice, to know that people could still fall in love and be happy together, after the death you endured the night before?"

A twist of the lips. "Hardly. It just reminded my even more starkly how different I was." Then, frozen, turning to Harry. "How did you know that Potter proposed on Christmas Day?"

_At least he wasn't quite oblivious enough to ask how I knew he saw my grandfather die on Christmas Eve, when he practically said as much himself. Even if he then blatantly attempted to deny it a moment later. _A facial expression that blurred the line between a smile and a smirk. "Well, when one is being threatened with excessive mayhem should one dare to tell said object of affections what he was planning, it tends to stick in one's mind."

Surprise. "You somehow … how on Earth …" Snape seemed to be undergoing some very great internal conflict. Finally, he offered, "You must have been … glad … to get to know your father …" His scowl was now extra fierce, as if to fend off even the idea that he might be being even slightly sympathetic toward a _Gryffindor_.

Harry shrugged. "Not really. He's just about as big a prat as you always said he was." Taking advantage of the fact that Snape was about as close to gaping in utter shock as that impassive expression would go, he raised his eyes to the man's cheekbones. "Tell me, sir … why are you trying to be so … well … _nice_ to me? Not that it's not appreciated …"

The man looked pained. "I have recently seen things that gave me the impression that I should … reconsider … my previous attitude towards you."

_He watched me die and thinks he now knows me because of it._ A burst of anger shot him to standing position. "Thank you for the sentiments, Professor, but I never needed your pity before and I sure as hell don't need it now."

"Potter …"

In the act of turning around, Harry whirled back. "It's _Harry_." He snarled.

In one smooth motion, as graceful and deadly as a striking serpent, Snape rose to his feet; even floating above ground to the point where he was once again at eye (or at least cheekbone-) level, Harry was unable to shake the older man's truly intimidating presence. "The last time I noticed, _Potter_, your name was still Harry _Potter_."

He glared challengingly (and how much _easier_ this would be, if he could just _look_ at the man …). "Got any bright ideas on how to change that, _Professor_?"

"Two, offhand, actually." He could almost feel the sneer sliding across his skin. "Don't tell me _you_ can't think of any."

"Well … in the Muggle world if you're of age, I think there's some place you can go to and fill out some sort of paperwork to get your name changed … but that's not really feasible, since even if I wasn't sort of _dead_, I wouldn't be of age yet anyway …"

"… I never thought I'd be saying this to you, Potter, but stop thinking so hard."

This, Harry decided, was probably his cue to close his mouth. In a Snape-ish sort of way, of course … but he found that even the sharper edges on this Snape's comments didn't bother him _quite_ as much as they used to (most of the time) … it was just the way Snape was. So he quieted, and patiently (as patiently as he could, at least) waited for whatever it was that Snape would be saying next.

"The wizarding world does not have that sort of office, although there are some wizards who make use of the Muggle equivalent. But I was talking about simpler, more feasible methods: adoption or renunciation."

He had taken on a lecturing tone that, Harry was amused to note, bore a certain resemblance to Hermione's when she had latched on particularly hard to a subject. "Both of which, obviously, are somewhat complicated by the fact that you are dead – though the fact that you are still visible will be of some help."

"I'm not, to most people." Harry informed Snape. "And, anyway, who would want to adopt a ghost?"

Did Snape's lips just _twitch_?! "There are some people …" he began carefully "… especially those among the lower levels of wizarding nobility … who have picked up on the lamentable Muggle idea that an agéd family manor, in addition to being cold, drafty, and dark, simply _must_" a nicely contemptuous twist to that "have a ghost or two inhabiting the halls."

Harry, still possessing many of the Muggle attitudes he had absorbed – even despite the fact that ghosts, being 'abnormal', had been yet another taboo topic in the Dursley household – nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. I don't think I'd fit the role too well, though. Too old for a tragic childhood accident, a bit young for the star-crossed lovers bit, and too clean for most other excuses – one really needs an artful spattering of blood here and there to pull the ghost thing off well, or if not that, at least _something_ gruesome, like Nearly Headless Nick's trick." That gained him another twitch of the lips, even if Snape did not deign to answer any further than that.

"Ah, but do you have any idea just _how_ many people would be simply dying to get their hands on Harry Potter?"

"…" Harry gave Snape's cheekbones a pointed Look. "… okay, adoption's definitely out, then."

"… Just exactly why are you so eager to escape the Potter name?" A smirk. "Not that I blame you …"

"Yes, yes, insert scathing insult directed at all who willingly bear the name Potter here." Harry said dismissively, then gave the question the attention it truly deserved. Why _did_ he want to escape it?

There was the obvious – it would finally put an end to the Headmaster's questioning, as he could not admit to a last name that he no longer had (and there was _probably_ a way to work the legalities such that he could truthfully manage to avoid mentioning even what his last name _had_ been). It would be a relief, to escape from the weight of expectations he felt descending on himself whenever he attempted – increasingly less frequently, this days – to reassume the mantle of that particular name.

He would not have to bear the inevitable insincerity as James and Lily decided that, well, since he was their son, he obviously couldn't be as bad as they had thought he was … Sirius trying to reconcile his (Harry was sure) conviction of the 'darkness' of Harry with the _obvious_, and equally obviously 'untaintable' Light orientation of the Potter family …

Remus and Peter, he thought, wouldn't react too badly, but even with them, there would be changes. They'd build expectations, unconsciously associating him with the other boy who, as far as Harry could tell, shared nothing more than a name and an interest in Quidditch with him.

… or the equally inevitable complete collapse of anything even remotely resembling congenial relations with the boy who might someday become the man now standing in front of him, waiting unexpectedly patiently for his answer. Snapes and Potters don't mix, any more than Potters and Malfoys, or Malfoys and Weasleys do. Bill and Claudius might have been able to work past that barrier, but probably not without a great deal of heartache and misunderstandings and setbacks.

It seemed vanishingly unlikely that he and Snape would be so lucky as to build even half as good a friendship, not with Snape blinded by the Potter name as he inevitably would be. He was one of the few who had never questioned Harry's reluctance to reveal his last name, simply waiting, Harry felt, until he came to him and released the information willingly. This was one friendship that would be hurt, Harry thought, inestimably more by the airing of that secret than it would be by the knowledge that that secret was being kept.

He liked his relations with the people in the past the way they were now, Dumbledore's suspicion and James' and Lily's and Sirius' hostility notwithstanding. And he very much did _not_ want things to change. Remus would probably be the first to put two and two together and start questioning just how he survived when Voldemort came and killed James and Lily – it had probably been a mistake, letting that information come to light, but he could not find it in himself to wholly regret it.

So with Harry Potter, would come Harry-Potter-The-Boy-Who-Lived. He was tired, _so_ tired of that title … these days, even with the constant need to watch himself lest he reveal more than was wise, had been worth it if only for the freedom he had been given. He was not opposed to helping bring down Voldemort, far from it, as his hatred for the man had, if anything, grown …

… but oh, how nice it had been to be making that decision of his own free will, instead of doing so because he was _expected _to, because it was his _Destiny_.

A cleared throat brought him back down to Earth … or as close as he could get in this state … as he noted, slightly guiltily, that Snape was still waiting. "A variety of reasons, Professor. If they knew, they'd see me as something and someone I'm not …"

Inadvertently, his eyes slid upward.

# # # # #

Transfiguration homework. On Severus' list of things of interesting things to spend his time on, transfiguration homework was … oh, right, it had never made it onto the list in the first place.

Having his own desk made things immeasurably better – his own desk, and lights that he could turn up however bright he wished without having to worry about bothering Rodolphus, who had always, in the seven years they had known each other, indulged in the habit of taking a midafternoon nap just around the time Severus usually set aside for homework.

… he learned after the first few times that Rodolphus could not sleep with any considerable amount of light on, even when the curtains to his bed were mostly closed. More to the point, he learned that a Rodolphus woken from his nap by light that wasn't supposed to be there was not a happy Rodolphus. And that hexes thrown by an unhappy Rodolphus were of the more painful variety, more powerful, and harder to dodge.

Needless to say, up until getting his own room after being made prefect in his fifth year, he had quickly gotten into the habit of doing his homework down in the common room. And after that – Slytherins were not _Gryffindor_ by any stretch of the imagination, but their common room was still respectably busy – having his own, _quiet_ place to work bordered on heaven.

Though he would not have minded being back in the common room just now … it would give him more of an excuse to be distracted into not working on the dreaded Transfiguration assignment.

A flickering out of the corner of his eye; he put down the quill he had been absentmindedly stroking (once again reminding himself to look into getting rid of that particular habit) to look more carefully in the direction from which the flicker had come.

There it was again. With a jolt – the world seemed to flash, or swirl, or maybe just fuzz out – a familiar outline sketched itself out against the backdrop of the rest of his sitting room. A ghostly Harry opened his mouth. "I'm tired, Professor. Maybe you were right all along and I'm just being a spoiled brat about this, but I'm tired of everyone thinking they know me just because they know my last name."

Contemplatively, Severus noted, "So that's why you've made such an effort to hide it …"

Again the world seemed to shudder as the ghostly image filled with color and dropped with a thud those last few inches to the floor. Wincing slightly, Harry reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, revealing briefly that strange lightning-shaped scar. "Well that was … an experience. Severus? Was that you?"

_Oh, right_. Severus kept forgetting that his definition of a 'decent' amount of light was significantly different than that of most people. Feeling slightly foolish, like some third-rate villain reduced to party tricks to keep up appearances, he waved his wand to raise the lights.

"Yes, it's me."

"Huh." The other boy's eyes went unfocused. "That's strange … I can't feel anyone else in my head …" He shook the aforementioned appendage. "_That's_ never happened to me, coming back, before …"

"Where do you go when you leave?" Severus asked, curious.

"Oh … back to where I came from originally. Not many people can see me there, though … as far as I can tell, it's just those who I've spent a significant time around here." He began ticking names off his fingers. "You, Dumbledore, Sirius, Remus … Wormtail and Voldemort probably could too …"

Raised eyebrow. "You've spent a significant amount of time around the Dark Lord? Going dark on us after all?"

Harry seemed about to glare, then thought better of it. "I'll just going to pretend that that was supposed to be a spectacularly unfunny joke and move on, shall I? We've met."

Severus pursed his lips. _Now when …_ Suddenly, he had it. "The Dark Lord attacked Evans' house?! No wonder the Headmaster evacuated the rest of the family as well …"

Suddenly Harry was leaning against the desk, acting as if only the barest sliver of remaining self-control was keeping him from reaching over and grabbing Severus by the collar. "They're here? Safe? _Alive?_"

Another quirk of the eyebrow, somewhat quizzical. "Well, of course. Where else would they be?"

# # # # #

"Mr. Evans!" The auburn-haired man had barely directed his gaze toward the door before he was rocked backwards on his feet by a short dark-haired projectile. In the doorway, another young man stood in the robes denoting a Hogwarts student – and, curious beyond curious, with a green-and-silver patch on said robes that Thomas was almost certain denoted Slytherin, the notoriously anti-Muggle House – even darker hair hanging lankly around a carefully expressionless face.

"Harry?" He detached the boy with rather more difficulty than he had expected, pushing him back to get a good look. The eyes, so similar to and yet so different from his daughter's, seemed more luminous than ever, almost as if they were hiding … tears? "Hey now, what's there to cry about?"

Slippery as a snake, the boy somehow managed to find a way to writhe back inwards, burying his head against Thomas' shoulder once again. "I was so afraid … I thought you'd _died_."

"What would give you that idea? That nice old man, Dumbledore? – anyway, he brought us all back to Hogwarts with Lily, said we weren't safe in our old neighborhood anymore. Now, what made you think I had died?"

"Well … the gravestone next to Lily and James' with your name on it and a death date of Christmas Eve 1977 was … somewhat discouraging." A bit of humor, dark though it might have been, was beginning to creep back into his voice. He turned to look at the older boy, contemplatively it seemed. "You weren't there, were you."

The black-clad young man straightened – even taller and more rimrod straight than he had been before – affronted. "No! You ought to know me better than that by now, Harry. I _wouldn't_."

A smile. "I thought I did. I'm glad I was right."

"What are you doing here, Harry?" His lips twitched. "You haven't usurped my daughter's body again, have you?" He tried to sound stern, truly he did …

A quick shake of the head. "I don't know. I just … appeared in Severus' room. And as far as I can tell, I'm alone in my head." He began fiddling with the ring Thomas had given him, twisting it this way and that before firmly stilling his hands. "And if I was in anyone's head, I'd be in Severus' … I think. If it's working the way it seemed to be before …"

"Severus? Is that …" Thomas nodded to the doorway, only to blink in astonishment at what he saw.

The dark-haired young man was gone.

# # # # #

_:Okay, no offense Harry, but whatever you did … undo it _now_. Please.:_

_:Severus?!:_

_:No, the Easter Bunny. Of course it's me. Notice anyone else missing?:_

Harry turned. Sure enough … _:When did that happen?:_

Stressed. _:If I knew, do you think I'd be asking _you_?:_

_:Well, the only way _I_ know of to switch bodies is by looking into someone's eyes – and if I'm here, I need to be wishing extra hard to get away too. I think. And my _back_ was to you!:_

_:Sure that was wise? Slytherins aren't known as 'backstabbing' for nothing, you know …:_

_:Oh, please. You may be Slytherin on the outside, but in your own screwy way you're as loyal as a Hufflepuff and far more honor-bound than some Gryffindors I can think of …:_

_:… I think I'm insulted.:_

"Harry?"

The black-haired boy blinked. "Sorry? I didn't catch that."

"I just called you three times. You were pretty out of it. I assume your friend is now stuck in your head?"

Harry nodded shortly. "And he's being _terribly_ gracious about it, too." He drawled, grinning. For that he got an _:Oi!:_ and … well, the closest he could come to describing it was a vigorous mental poke … from the Slytherin in question and a highly amused look from the man standing in front of him.

"And I'm sure the first time you found yourself stuck in someone else's body you were all sweetness and light."

The look thrown his way was full of injured innocence. "But of course. Have I ever been anything but?"

"I seem to remember a certain someone trading quips with a certain Dark Lord in such a way that did not strike me as terrible conducive to said certain someone's continued existence …"

"It's um … well, not exactly habit, but …" He shrugged. "There's only so much cowering in abject fear a person can do." He whistled. "I was surprised at just how powerful he is, though … I only just barely managed to roll his Imperius Curse." A small, somewhat shy smile. "I might not have managed it, if he hadn't been ordering me to do something I objected so strongly to."

_:… You can do _what_?!:_

Thomas frowned. "Oh dear. Too strong, do you think?"

Harry made a face. "There's not much one can do against the curse I used on him. But I'm dead now, so I'm not sure how it would work if I tried again … and I'm certainly not going to risk consign my host to the same sort of odd limbo I'm living in. No one deserves that."

"Except you?" The older man inquired mildly.

Harry shot him a suspicious look. " I … that's different."

Severus thought that was harsh, rather cruel, and completely untrue, but seeing how close Harry was to agreeing came to the conclusion that the man knew that and was just trying to get Harry to see it too. So he redirected the conversation, hoping that would allow the younger boy's subconscious to stew over the idea a bit. _:Hello? Stranded Slytherin minus a body here …:_

Harry jumped and blushed; he was ashamed to realize that he had completely forgotten for a moment there that Severus even existed; what if he had said something …?

"The Slytherin …?"

Harry smiled, proud of his grandfather for remembering. "Severus Snape. Yeah, he's a bit … annoyed."

With the air of someone who had suddenly remembered his manners, Thomas waved Harry to take a seat. "Well, let's see if we can reconstruct this properly. What does your friend know?"

_:Nothing.:_ Was Severus' succinct answer, nearing a snarl. _:You and Evans' father were talking one moment and then suddenly *poof!* I was inside your head.:_ In a slightly more good-natured tone, _:At least there's plenty of room up here …:_

_:Oi …:_ Harry did his best to sound injured. "He doesn't know anything, Mr. Evans." A stern look. "… Thomas."

Thomas nodded. "So that means, whatever happened was either totally unassociated with you, or it happened in front of you, where Mr. Snape couldn't see."

"Good point, but …" Harry gestured with one hand. "That still leaves a lot that it could have been."

"Your hands." Thomas raised his own left hand. "I noticed, you were twisting your ring around that time. Mostly because I have that same habit."

He looked down at said appendages, then back up at Thomas, doubtful. "So you really think me twisting my ring is the trigger?"

_:Even if it's not, would it really hurt to try?:_ Severus pointed out, somewhat impatient. _:Just do it already.:_

Sheepishly, and feeling more than a little self-conscious, Harry bent his head and began twisting his ring, his fingers moving in the already familiar motions, familiar enough as to be almost automatic. _:Is it working …?:_

_:I don't …:_ Severus began.

"– Seems so." A voice resonating in more than just his head corrected. Harry turned and smiled … and Severus, just for a moment, seemed like he was beginning to smile back.

That faded, of course, as he drew himself up. "Now, Harry, you know I mean this in the kindest way possible … but … please, don't _ever_ do that again."

# # # # #

Remus Lupin slumped in his chair, trying desperately to stay, if not truly awake, at least coherent enough to take decent notes. If anyone asked him, he'd swear up one side and down the other that he loved History of Magic – perhaps not quite as much as Defense, but he still found the subject far from uninteresting.

Yet … for some reason … whenever he entered this classroom, as soon as Professor Binns began to speak he immediately began drifting off, no matter how hard he tried.

Movement out of the corner of his eye; a slip of paper fluttered to rest on his desk, its impact so soft only a werewolf could have heard. Curious, he turned it over and unfolded it. _Now_ he was awake.

_Lupin – _

_Come to my room after lunch. Bring Pettigrew with you. _

_Password is a mutual friend of ours._

– _S_

Simple. Direct. To the point. And completely incomprehensible. 'Snape' and 'passing notes during class' were a word and a phrase that he had _never_ expected to be using in the same sentence. They were simply completely incompatible. (Kinda like 'Remus Lupin' and 'receiving notes during class'? a small part of him mocked.)

Slowly, inexorably, his gaze shifted over to the Slytherin, one of the very few who had actually bothered to stay in NEWTS level History of Magic (in his sleepier moments, he sometimes wondered why even he had bothered. Then he woke up and reminded himself that he liked the subject. Truly). Momentarily, their eyes met.

And Snape raised a questioning eyebrow, his face irritatingly blank.

Remus looked back down at the desk and the note sitting oh-so-innocently on top of it. He already knew what he was going to do, and he knew it was probably foolish. Oh well.

_Damn my curiosity anyway …_

# # # # #

"… Has anyone told you lately that you're sweet?"

Severus whirled from the path he had been relentlessly pacing for the last five, ten minutes to glare ferociously at Harry. "I am a Slytherin, I am a Snape, and I am spiteful by nature. I don't _do_ sweet."

"So what do you call inviting them to come see me?"

"Screwing with Lupin's mind just to see if he'll be stupid or confused enough to actually follow my directions." Severus answered – _too_ promptly.

"Well, if you're just screwing with his mind, then you obviously don't expect either him or Peter to come, and thus you're worrying about a big fat load of nothing."

"I'm not worrying."

"So sit down and … I don't know … finish your Transfiguration essay or something."

"But I hate Transfiguration …"

"And stop whining."

"I do _not_ whine!"

To his credit, Harry _almost_ managed to maintain his straight face. Severus raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're a Gryffindor?"

Harry pretended to consider this. "Well … that's what the Hat said …"

A snort. "Pity."

"… Yeah, it said that too …"

In the act of sitting down, Severus paused and looked at Harry, suspicious. The corporeal ghost simply knitted his hands behind his back and smiled innocently. Another, softer snort and Severus sat down fully, shaking his head. "… probably wanted to stick you in Hufflepuff." He shot off.

The innocence did not waver. "But of course. Where else?"

Shaking his head and hiding his own growing amusement, Severus reluctantly pulled said essay towards himself, waving in Harry's direction absentmindedly. "They should be here in a couple of minutes. Just … occupy yourself with something until then. Try not to destroy anything."

"Yes sir." Harry rolled his eyes and threw a mock salute, wandering over to the bookshelf to see if Severus had anything _interesting_ to read. Surely there was _something_ here other than Potions texts …

The young man in question, in the mean time, had begun once again the process of trying to get into the _fascinating_ procedure necessary to change an aardvark into an afghan. Yeah. Absolutely fascinating. He was on the edge of his seat in anticipation.

_Okay, less sarcasm, more work …_

He ran his fingers along the edges of the quill in his own private calming, focusing ritual. _Come on … you can do this. It's only Transfiguration …_ The problem was not that he was hopeless at Transfiguration – no matter what Potter and his crew liked for people to think – he just had no use for the subject and thus had a notoriously hard time convincing himself to actually try hard enough to do more than the minimal. Then as though in answer to his desires, a distraction manifested itself.

"Well?" His head snapped, disoriented for a moment by the fact that two of the Marauders were in _his room_. Then he returned to Earth as he remembered that he had not only given them the password to his rooms, he had made a point of changing the password to something that he could allude to that was obvious enough that they'd be able to guess it.

"Well what?" He stood.

"What did you want us here for?" Pettigrew said slowly, eyes darting around the room nervously.

Gryffindors. "I had thought that would be obvi –" he turned.

Harry was gone.

27 November 2003  
9 January 2004  
9 September 2012


	12. Chapter 12

… Well. Over a month again, but not quite so badly this time. RL decided to suddenly be far more demanding, I didn't study nearly as much for finals as I should but found plenty of ways to waste time anyway, lost all muse for this story for several weeks (but it's back! ^^) and … yeah. Sorry.

Two things to note: I survived my first semester in college! And came out a great deal more on top than I was expecting.

Aaand … 600 + reviews. That boundary has now been broken, for the first time in my history of writing stories. To think, just a year ago, this story was just something I tossed out to the crowd to provide myself with a little variety every now and then … Congratulations and a large chunk of thanks to everyone who's helped me make it this far. ^^

(11/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

# # # Chapter 12 # # #

_:Oh bloody hell.:_ The voice was more resigned than anything … and, more importantly, a very familiar one. Inside his head.

Severus silently echoed the sentiment, though of course, as a Slytherin, he had his dignity to maintain and would never be caught actually _voicing _such a crudity.

Things far more crude and obscene, yes. And the generally accompanying hexes, yes, those too.

"Well ….?" Lupin again, sounding more than a little impatient.

"One moment." He closed his eyes and thought furiously. What could have caused this?

_:My back was turned.:_ Harry volunteered.

Of course.

In something of a haze, he made his way back to his desk, sitting down and looking at all that resided there. _:I was sitting just like this …:_ His eyes darted up. No, that hadn't been the trigger. Still no Harry, although he had actually known that before his eyes corroborated it; now that he knew the feeling, he could easily identify the Harry-presence that still resided in his head. _:Thinking about Transfiguration …:_

"Snape, if this is just a joke …"

"Shut it, Lupin! I'm thinking!"

_:And how rotten Potter and his group are …:_

_:… Present company excepted, of course?:_ Harry prodded.

Severus grunted. _:What else …:_ To soothe his frustration, he began toying with the quill sitting on top of said Transfiguration assignment. Which had splotched said assignment when a certain werewolf had interrupted his train of thought. Which meant he'd probably have to rewrite the damn thing. Stupid …

"Ha! It's the quill!" A triumphant voice said.

One outside his head.

"Harry?" Lupin and Pettigrew asked in unison.

"In the flesh." The boy grinned. "Or as close as I can get, at least. Sorry for that … we were experiencing a few … technical difficulties."

"Where have you been? Are you okay? I heard you were interrogated, I can't _believe_ the Headmaster would do something like that –" Lupin, Severus decided with a well-hidden smirk, was babbling. It was good to know that he was not the only one Harry provoked that reaction in.

Harry shrugged sheepishly. "How long was I gone this time? It seemed like only … I dunno … five minutes or so to me."

Severus busied himself with re-sharpening his quill – being careful not to do anything that might be considered toying with it – leaving the Gryffindors to their reunion. That did not, of course, keep him from making the occasional logical contribution. "Much like the other times – at least as far as I am aware – you were gone about a month. Today is February 5th."

Harry nodded his thanks. "I don't have any control over where or when I go when I travel. Well, certainly not conscious …" He frowned, a bit troubled. "This last time, it might have been my worrying over what had happened to Mr. Evans …"

Sensing this was a bit of a touchy subject, Peter asked gently, "Where did you end up?"

A wry smile. "In front of a grave that claimed he had died that night."

"So _that's_ why you nearly strangled me when I told you he was still alive." Severus' eyes widened, then narrowed again. "Wait a second … that other thing you said … the other me was …?"

Harry nodded. "He let slip as much, when I met him in the graveyard."

"What was he … I … Merlin, this is confusing … doing there?"

Harry rubbed his forehead with one hand, shaking his head ruefully. "It's … something of a long story. Basically, he owed a life debt to my father that he had not repaid by the time my father died, so since then, he's taken it upon himself to try and keep me out of trouble. He was there in the graveyard to apologize to my parents for failing me." As an afterthought, "He had an urn with him; I bet that was my ashes. I wonder, did the spell disintegrate me, or was I just cremated after the fact …?"

All three had turned slightly green, but it was Remus who spoke. "No offense, Harry, but … dealing with the fact that you're dead is hard enough to believe – especially at times like these, when you _are_, to all intents and purposes, still alive. I _really _don't need to hear the details."

A sad smile. "You get used to the idea relatively quickly, I find. Of course, I probably would have had a harder time, had I gone on to some sort of _real_ afterlife, instead of this strange limbo as a result of that spell." Suddenly fierce, with a grin that approached vicious. "And even if I had ended up in some _real_ limbo … or in the worst incarnation of the Christian Hell … it would have been worth it still, to rid the world of _him_."

"But … couldn't someone else have taken care of him?" Peter asked. "You're only … what, fourteen? I'm as eager as anyone to do my part in the war … but as a fourteen-year-old, you _couldn't_ have been expected …" He trailed off, transfixed by the odd look on the spirit's face.

Pity? Harry shook his head. "Oh, I don't doubt that they expected me to have graduated Hogwarts, and gained a far greater body of knowledge, maybe even have done something horribly cliché like becoming an Auror, before finally downing Voldemort. But … even if no one's come right out and said it, I've always known that his death was my responsibility, if only through their expectations."

"That's a load _no one_ should have to bear." Peter angrily responded; Severus silently echoed both the sentiment and the anger, but found, himself, the worst part to be that Harry had _accepted_ this fate so calmly.

_:I first encountered the Wizarding World when I was eleven; there's very little I _wouldn't_ have done, to keep that magic, to be able to stay. Besides … who better than I?:_

_:An adult!:_

_:With a wife, children … family to look after? I'm an orphan, Severus … and I would not wish that lack of family on _anyone_.:_

_:But … look at what you lost …:_

_:And what everyone else in my world gained. Peace, Severus. I'm sure you wish it just as much as the rest of us.:_ The spirit turned, from Remus, to Peter, finally pinning Severus with an emerald gaze both joyous and sorrowful. _:And just see what _I _have gained. The chance to see you all, alive, well, happy …:_

"I feel like I'm missing something." Peter directed towards Remus in an aside.

As if hearing audible voices again had flipped some sort of switch, as Harry made his grand gesture, he began speaking aloud. "These are the best years of your life, you know. Before _you_ are thrown into the war, only slightly less of children than I; before distance and strife and mistrust and betrayal and death separate you all … it is truly the most precious gift I could have been given, to see you all in this time and place."

And it would have not been terribly surprising if, at this time, all three seventh-years, separated so widely by House and race, yet brought together by the changes this young man had wrought, had thought the exact same thought. _And our most precious gift … is you._

# # # # #

"When I heard Black went Seeker that one game … that was you, wasn't it?" With the Marauders' help, Severus had finally given in and conjured up a trio of comfortable chairs, set to form a rough square (with Severus' desk as the final corner), and quite happily abandoned any attempt at even seeming to be working on his assignments.

Remus looked over, nodding at Severus' question. "I admit, it didn't really seem his style … I'm not entirely sure he _could_ find the Snitch."

Harry chortled. "And he is such a _total_ wuss as far as dives are concerned. He'd _never_ make it as a decent Seeker; end up losing his nerve or splattering himself all over the ground within the first season."

"I take that as a yes?" Peter offered dryly. Then, as the only one who had actually attended the entire match, "That was some sweet flying, though I wasn't quite sure what he – you – whatever – was doing for about the first half of the match."

Harry looked wistful. "Are you kidding? That's the first time I've been on a broom for a significant period of time since … February? Four months or so ago, for me … and that wasn't recreational flying by any stretch of the imagination."

Peter blinked. "Wait … don't you play Quidditch? I thought the season usually runs longer than that …"

Harry smiled, proud. "Have for three years now – not counting this past year, since the Quidditch Cup was canceled."

"You joined the Quidditch team in your _first year_?" Remus, aghast. "But … there are rules against that sort of thing! McGonagall would never …"

"Yet she did." Harry grinned. "Just sick of seeing Slytherin win so often, I guess."

Severus looked suddenly very smug.

"Of course, they never won after I joined the team … I only lost once, and that was to Hufflepuff."

So what if Peter was the only one of the three who followed Quidditch to any extent; they all found this prospect equally horrifying. "_Hufflepuff_?!"

"He was very apologetic afterwards … that was one of the matches that was sabotaged."

_Only a Hufflepuff would apologize for winning …_

Severus leaned back in his chair, taking upon himself the task of attempting to bring this conversation back to some semblance of a topic. "So exactly why was the Quidditch Cup canceled? I'd think that was nearly as blasphemous as getting rid of the House Cup."

_:They wanted to turn the pitch into a giant maze for the Third Task …:_ Harry was surprised to realize how long it had been since he had thought about the events of that night, and felt guilty immediately about allowing his own death and the events following it to overshadow … Cedric … _:I wonder if anyone has brought his body home … he deserved that much, at least …:_

"Third Task of what?" Severus asked, but Harry only stood silently and slipped out of the room.

"What are you talking about, Snape?" Remus asked. "No one mentioned – "

"Harry just said …" Severus said blankly. "Your sort is supposed to have amazing hearing, Lupin, don't tell me I'm the only one who heard. He just said that the pitch was used … to grow a giant maze …"

"For the 'third task'?" Peter offered.

"So you heard!" Snape grasped the offering with relief.

"Actually, no, I didn't." Peter shrugged. "It was just the logical conclusion."

# # # # #

It was – not too terribly surprisingly – the Quidditch pitch that Remus' nose eventually led him to; one of the highest stands that gave the person seated there an almost bird's-eye view of the surroundings. It worried him more than he cared to admit that Harry – usually in a state of near-Slytherin paranoid awareness as far as his surroundings were concerned – had not seemed to mark his approach the slightest bit.

Finally, he reached the top, and seated himself next to the spirit. Still no movement; Harry continued to sit there, chin resting on folded hands, staring blankly into the distance. "Hey," Remus greeted quietly. "Are you all right?"

In a flat voice, "I'm fine."

"What's wrong? You look like someone died or something." Remus attempted a joking tone.

A wry smile. "Which period of my life are you referring to?"

Blink. "Well … recently … I guess."

"Three people, including myself. Me, Voldemort, and Cedric Diggory. The Hufflepuff Seeker who's the only one who's ever beat me to the Snitch."

"Cedric … sounds vaguely familiar." The werewolf's brow furrowed. "Oh, that's right … you mentioned him briefly once before. What happened?"

Another wry smile, this one with more of an edge. "I was a stupid Gryffindor. If only I had acted more like a Slytherin, for once … instead of insisting that we share the Cup … then I would have gone on to face _him_ alone, and Cedric would still be alive …"

"The Cup?"

"Triwizard Tournament Cup." Harry explained in a weary tone. "Reaching it was supposed to be the goal of the Third Task. I assume it wasn't _meant_ to be a portkey to Voldemort's home base …"

"But the Triwizard Tournament was outlawed _ages_ ago, due to too many contestant fatalities! What on Earth were _you_ doing as part of one?" Remus waved a hand grandly. "Has the world 20 years in the future gone bloody _insane_?!"

"There was an age limit. Seventeen." Harry offered. "… Come to think of it, I bet that was a setup, too … me being entered, I mean."

"Well then, why did you participate in the first place? If you weren't the one who submitted your name, it can't possibly have been legally binding. _Especially_ not if you didn't meet all the guidelines to begin with."

"It was an unbreakable Wizarding Contract – or something like that. I _had_ to participate." Suddenly he laughed. "As Professor Snape would say, it's not like I've ever paid attention to rules anyway." He stood up, sneering. "Arrogant, rude brat, with _no_ regard at all for the rules … _just_ like his father!"

Remus choked back a chuckle. "Sounds like he hated your father – and you by association, I assume – almost as much as he hates James and Sirius."

There was an arrested look on Harry's face, as if that statement had somehow blindsided him. He recovered quickly, however, saying blandly (with a hint of hidden humour that Remus didn't quite understand the source of), "I think that would be a pretty safe bet."

Remus stood too. "Feeling a bit better now? Ready to come back inside?"

That brought Harry back down into his former position post haste. "Not really." He muttered. "You see? You did it again." He paused for a deep breath. "These last few … well, however you measure the duration I've spent on this side of time … have been some of the best in my life. Even with James ragging on me and Sirius' suspicion and Lily's flat-out dislike – plus a plot almost worthy of a Slytherin … being here is really great."

"But it makes you feel guilty that you're enjoying yourself so much?" Remus hazarded.

Harry looked up, meeting his eyes squarely for the first time. "That's it. That's it exactly. How did you know?"

Now it was Remus' turn for his smile to take on something of a wry tinge. "It may have escaped you, shut up safe here in Hogwarts as you have been, but in this time, there's a war going on. I defy you to find _anyone_ in the school who _hasn't_ lost a friend or close family member."

"That's right …" Harry sighed. "… I can't believe I forgot about that … I guess I never really quite realized how bad the war used to be. I mean, I've had plenty of encounters with Voldemort, in one form or another … but usually I'm the only one involved, or at least the focus. Like when the basilisk got loose – several people got petrified, and Ginny was kidnapped, but no one died …"

"A basilisk." Remus said flatly. "That's it. I can no longer be surprised by anything that comes out of that strange, dangerous adventure novel you evidently called a life. Let me guess, that was your first year at Hogwarts."

"Nope, second." Harry corrected cheerfully. "First was Voldemort possessing my DADA teacher in order to steal and use the Philosopher's Stone."

Remus buried his face in his hands. "As I said …" Then his head shot up. "What was something like a philosopher's stone doing at Hogwarts in the first place?"

Harry shrugged. "It got moved here for higher security."

"Security that, evidently, a _first_ year could break through?" Heavy on irony.

"Well, no … I needed a lot of help from Ron and Hermione to get through."

"Oh, right. _Three_ first years are ever so much more impressive than one."

Harry patted his arm soothingly. "It really wasn't as bad as you make it out to be, Remus. I'm used to it, really."

Remus just shook his head. "But you shouldn't have to be. Why couldn't an adult have taken care of any of this?"

"I was there first." Harry offered. "Besides, I _could_ do it … so why should anyone else have been troubled on my account?"

"So you didn't have to!" Why couldn't he make Harry _see_?

Harry just looked at him with that sad-knowing gaze. "Most other people have families. Voldemort killed all I'd willingly bestow with that title. Who better than me?" _Who else would have been willing to do so, when the Boy-Who-Lived was around to take care of the problem?_

"To spare you …" Remus stood and held out his hand, face resolute. "I would have."

# # # # #

Peter made a point of looking around the room, before finally turning back to Severus. "I feel abandoned." He drawled dryly. "My … what a big room you have …"

"The better to …" Severus deadpanned, then paused. "…" "…" "… oh, never mind."

"Whaat?" Peter demanded, trying his hardest to hide his grin.

Severus wasn't fooled. "Well, when I couldn't think of anything better than 'the better to seduce you with' …" an eloquent shrug "… I figured the better part of valor was just to concede." Now it was his turn to scan the room. "I assume the – Lupin went after Harry?"

And it was Peter's turn to shrug. "That seems to be the logical conclusion to draw. Now what was it you were saying about tasks and the Quidditch pitch?"

Severus' brows drew together. "I still don't understand why no one else heard. He was speaking in a perfectly normal tone of voice … perhaps a bit quieter than usual, but even though he's a fairly soft-spoken person in general, he's not _that_ inaudible." He gave a brief shake to his head. _Dammit. I'm babbling again._ "He was saying something about a third task, and how the Quidditch pitch had been turned into a giant maze … until he meandered off on a tangent about someone bringing someone else's body home …"

"His own, perhaps?"

Severus scowled. "No, he distinctly said '_his_ body', it was definitely someone else. Besides, one of the actual few _documented _effects of the curse he used is that it completely disintegrates the caster's body after the curse is cast. There wouldn't _be_ a body to take home. An urn, maybe … the documents don't say how complete the disintegration is, after all."

Peter looked faintly green. "On second thought, how about we move on? I prefer to avoid saying or even thinking the words 'Harry' and 'dead' in the same sentence when at all possible."

_Point_. Severus acknowledged the statement with a small nod, as his pride as both a Slytherin and a Snape wouldn't allow him to assume much the same color for much the same reason.

"And that's about all, before he ran off."

Peter's eyes narrowed in thought. "Hey, why don't you try saying something to him right now?"

"Are you completely daft, Pettigrew? He's not in this room, in case you hadn't noticed … and I really don't feel like informing the entire castle of his return by yelling at the top of my lungs."

"No, I mean …" He waved his hand in a circle, searching for clarification. "Look, every other time Harry's been here, he's had some sort of mental contact with his current 'host', right?"

"It would be hard not to, when we're sharing a head." Severus pointed out dryly.

"Right, so … even now that you're in separate bodies, wouldn't it make sense that the connection was still there? Especially considering that you heard him talking about something no one else could hear?"

"He was speaking aloud."

"I didn't hear a thing. And I wasn't paying extremely close attention, but I'm pretty sure his mouth wasn't moving, either."

"Hmpf." Pettigrew had a point, but damned if Severus was going to actually acknowledge that fact verbally.

_:Harry?:_ He grumbled again about the fact that he still had no idea what the spirit's last name was. He knew it was the only way, but it still felt exceedingly strange to be calling this person that he barely know, and who seemed primarily to have a Gryffindor core, even if he occasionally exhibited some rather Slytherin traits and was certainly a great deal quieter than most Gryffindors he knew, by his first name.

_:Yeah?:_ Came the startled reply. _:Severus? Where are … oh. Well, that's certainly interesting.:_

_:You are feeling better?:_ Unfortunately, there was no way to make that not sound like concern, though Severus tried his best.

_:More or less.:_ Was the somewhat less than optimal reply. _:I believe Remus is a bit hacked off at me, though.:_

_:Why?:_ Then, as a new and more alarming thought occurred to him, _:Be careful.:_

The response to the latter was immediate and fervent. _:Severus Snape, you take that back right now! I have absolutely nothing to fear from Remus, even if he was a great deal more angry with me than he is now, even near the full moon when his beastly instincts are at their height – and I'll thank you to notice that we are actually entering the _new_ moon phase.:_

_:Um …:_

_:And furthermore, I think it's totally unreasonable and cruel of you to react that way. Remus is just as human as you or I – and perhaps even more, considering how many students in my time are completely convinced you're a vampire or something – :_

Snape was assaulted with the brief image of a tall, menacing figure, wearing a billowing black cloak. _Just what I always wanted to be when I grew up._ He thought to himself, amused. _A bat._

_: – and though I may be human enough, what with all the stupid pedestals people put me on, it's rare that anyone else seems to share my opinion.:_ The mental image of a deep breath.

_:Yes, it's common sense to stay out of the way of his claws and teeth when he's transformed, since he can't control himself in that state. But when he's in human form, he's _human_, with slightly heightened senses and greater strength at times. He has a mind, and whether you want to admit it or not, Severus, Remus is certainly one of the most controlled people _I've_ ever known. He's _not_ going to go on a rampage in human form, and since, as I mentioned before, it's a new moon now …:_

The sound of a disgusted sigh. _:Oh, never mind. You're being a bigot and if you're anywhere near as smart as you pretend you are, you know it.:_ With the sensation of a door slamming in his face – and the sudden urge to rub his nose from the imagined impact – Harry said no more.

_Okay, note to self. Never _ever_ get Harry defensive about Lupin again._

"I take it I was right?" Peter asked dryly as Severus' attention snapped back to the room in general. The Slytherin was slightly disoriented when he realized that the blond Gryffindor had somehow managed to move several feet to one side without his notice.

Severus grunted.

"So what did he have to say?"

The black-haired seventh year suppressed a wince at the memory of how completely he had been told off – by a kid at least three years younger than him! "Rather a lot. Lupin did manage to find him, and evidently is now mad at him for something …"

"Remus? Angry?" Peter blinked multiple times rather rapidly. "… Why?"

Now it was Severus' turn to blink. He looked back on the conversation, but could no longer remember much other than Harry's tirade. Ah! That had been set off because he had warned Harry to be careful. But had he ever actually …?

"… Would you believe that I forgot to ask?"

# # # # #

"Harry!"

Spirit and werewolf turned. "Mr. – Thomas!" Harry exclaimed, eyes and face alike lighting up. Remus felt a momentary pang of … something unfamiliar, something he was hopeless to further identify. It seemed wrong that Harry was smiling so brightly at this unknown … Muggle, most likely, by the clothes he wore.

But that was just plain silly.

The man turned an amused gaze on the werewolf. "Mr. Thomas … well, that's better than nothing, I suppose. You must be Remus Lupin, correct?" He extended his hand. Remus took it, and cautiously shook. "I'm Thomas Evans. Lily's told me much about you."

Now that he had been told, Remus could see a certain family resemblance between the two – not only in the red hair that was a somewhat darker shade on father than daughter, but in the lithe build and the thin, roughly triangular face. "All good, I hope." He replied lightly, entirely unable to dislike this man.

Thomas appeared to ponder this. "Well, you were the member of James' crew she found least objectionable for the longest time … seems like an excellent review to me." The man turned to Harry. "So, what life-threatening adventures have you engaged in since I last saw you?"

"I don't find trouble _every day_!" Harry protested in a hurt tone of voice. Then, with the smile peeking back through, "Just on alternate Tuesdays." He tilted his head. "What are you doing out here?"

Thomas looked around innocently. "If anyone asks, I'm trying to find a bathroom."

The spirit eyed him doubtfully. "I doubt Dumbledore would have been so remiss as to have given you a suite without one."

"It's … er … in use."

"Well, then." Harry mused. "I suppose it's my duty to show you around. Point out all the nearby bathrooms, just in case you're caught in this dreadful situation ever again."

Getting into the swing of the conversation, Remus ventured, "You know, for a good overview of the castle as a whole, we might want to show him the Astronomy Tower."

Harry nodded firmly. "Definitely a must."

"D'you suppose we should invite Lily along?" _He is her father, after all …_

The two exchanged Looks that were unfamiliar to Remus. "That won't be necessary." Mr. Evans reassured him. "I'm sure she has other things she'd rather be doing."

"The fewer who know of my presence here, the better." Harry added quietly. "Though there shouldn't be any real trouble as long as _he_ doesn't catch wind of who my host is."

Expecting him to come to the defense of his daughter, Remus was stunned to see Lily's father nodding his agreement. "But …" He protested weakly. "Lily wouldn't do something like that … would she?"

Mr. Evans' continued silence and Harry's addition to it spoke louder than words.

"She's your daughter. Surely you want to spend time with her …?" Remus was no longer even exactly sure why he was protesting. It wasn't like he personally cared whether Lily was there or not … it just didn't seem right. _There's a piece to this puzzle I'm missing._

"I don't feel the need to share my whole life with my daughter." Mr. Evans said calmly. "She's had me for the first seventeen years of her life. She can do without me for these few hours." He smiled down at Harry, and Harry smiled back, an expression mingling joy, sorrow, and unexpected bitterness.

_A very large piece._

11 January 2004  
9 September 2012


	13. Chapter 13

Um … I've been … um … busy?

*disappears under pile of flaming bricks*

Oh, before I forget … *looks bored* Language warning. I use harsher language at one point in this fic than usual. Of course, this is a word I learned in sixth grade … so these days, as long as you're in the double digits age-wise, I seriously doubt I'll be teaching you anything you don't know already …

Harry Potter doesn't belong to me. Even if you're not in the double digits yet, I'm sure you know that much. :P

(11/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

# # # Chapter 13 # # #

A knock at the door.

_Who on Earth …?_ He could feel Harry contentedly off … somewhere; probably running around with Mr. Evans again. And he honestly could not think of anyone else likely to come calling. His fellow Slytherins weren't the sort to visit unless they were interested in something in particular, and his relative value had sunk drastically ever since he emphatically cut all ties with the Voldemort-affiliated group the previous November.

It still hurt a bit. Future Death Eaters or no, he had thought of several of them as his friends … he missed Evan's sense of humor, how he managed to put a razor edge on nearly every statement he made, and you could never quite tell whether or not he was being genuinely serious. He missed watching Bellatrix pull her man-eater act on and chase Rodolphus around – better than any Muggle sitcom, that was. Especially since she wasn't that way at all except when she was in Rodolphus-hunting mode.

In a way, it was like watching a role reversal of the way Potter used to pursue Evans … except this particular amusement hadn't come to its inevitable end quite yet. The betting pool was wide and varied; Severus personally had bet that Rodolphus would see the light (probably by dint of Bellatrix finally bashing enough holes in his head) near the end of seventh year – he was sure that Bella would snare him by graduation. Come to think of it … perhaps Harry would know. He'd have to remember to ask the spirit.

And change his bet accordingly, if necessary, of course.

He was recalled abruptly from his woolgathering by an increase in the knock's volume and insistence and, muttering to himself, marched over to the door and wrenched it open. From the other side, Pettigrew – of all people! – nearly fell in, briefly regained his balance, then tripped on the threshold and ended up falling anyway. "Pettigrew?" There went the vaunted Snape eloquence … again … "What are you doing here?"

The Gryffindor nimbly regained his feet – a good thing, since Severus had absolutely no intention of backsliding far enough to actually offering the other a hand up – a red face the only indication left that his entrance had been anything at all out of the ordinary. "Erh … well … you see …"

A deep breath, and the blond's face began to reassume something vaguely resembling its normal hue. "Remus is off somewhere …" he began awkwardly, "… and I really don't want to be around James and Lily and Sirius right now, because if they start badmouthing Harry – which they do, occasionally, even though they don't know he's back – I don't trust myself to keep from blurting something I shouldn't … and, well …" He gestured at the floor, indicating the pile of papers that had scattered when he fell. "I noticed you were … er … 'trying' to work on Transfiguration last time I was here, so I was just wondering – if you haven't already long since finished it or anything – if you'd mind too much working with someone who's probably even more incompetent than you at the subject?"

_Did he really say all that in just two breaths?_ Severus resisted the urge to blink bemusedly as he absently remarked, "You're babbling, Pettigrew."

The Gryffindor's face fell. "So that's a no, then." Silently, he kneeled and began re-gathering his papers.

_You know … if they saw this, the others would _never_ let me live it down …_ Severus rolled his eyes, not entirely sure himself who exactly he was rolling them at, and tapped Peter on the shoulder. "Did I say that?" He demanded.

"Well, no, but …"

He shook his head. "Just like a Gryffindor, putting words in my mouth _again_. Finish gathering that stuff and come sit down already, for Merlin's sake."

Matching actions to words, he glided back over to his desk and sat down himself, still shaking his head to himself.

_Now see what Harry has done to me? Friends with a real Gryffindor … I'm surely ruined for life!_

# # # # #

If he had had any sense at all, he would have just walked on. The screaming wasn't the sort he associated with anyone in real trouble, after all; it more closely resembled the sorts of sounds his younger sister made during a particularly bad temper tantrum. And he certainly knew better than to get involved in one of _those_.

So what made him stop? At the time, he wasn't entirely sure; he became even less certain as the years wore on. But the fact remained that he did stop, turning towards the sound and tracing it to a nearly forgotten room that had gone unoccupied for quite some time.

Quite different from the other time he had seen it (an incident better left forgotten; its only good aspect being that he had been so surprised at seeing … well … what he had seen that he had been driven to research that room, as he couldn't quite believe that it hadn't all been a very bad dream), one wall was lined with shelves holding nearly every variation on glass and otherwise breakable objects; the other entirely blank.

And in the middle of the room, the source of the screech; currently in the act of throwing another item off the shelf (self-refilling, of course) towards the blank wall. Self-preservation led him to wait until _after_ the object had left her hands (and before she picked up another one) to make his presence known with a small cough.

As he had halfway expected, the distraction only phased her for a moment before she flung herself at him, arms swinging wildly. Though he ducked out of the way in a rather expert fashion – this, a benefit of being the sort of kid who had gone through grade school and even his first few years of Hogwarts as if he had a sign pasted to his forehead saying 'Pick On Me' – a lucky hit still managed to glance off his jaw; he'd be bruising there before long.

"I hate you!" She was screaming, only this side of completely incomprehensible. "I hate you all!"

"And why would that be?" He inquired, carefully as neutrally as he could. And ducked some more.

"Oh, like you really care?" She scoffed. "You and your wands and your potions and your _magic_. You're all the same!"

"That seems a bit unfair." He objected mildly, catching one of her arms as it came flying past yet again. "It's like saying … oh … that all men are chauvinist pigs. At least, I like to _think _there are a couple of us that are actually decent out there somewhere …"

"You _are._" She sniffed. "Is it _my_ fault I'm locked up in this stupid old castle? Is it _my_ fault some insane – wizard, I might add! – megalomaniac attacked my house? Is it _my_ fault that because of said insane wizard, some senile old _fool_ decided that I'd be _safer_ here?"

"This insane wizard wouldn't happen to be named V-Voldemort, would he …?"

The girl shrugged, for some reason calm enough now to be able to give a coherent answer (at decibels more appropriate for the ordinary human ear, even). "Something like that."

He gaped at her. "You're a Muggle. And you've seen Him. And you're alive and sane to tell the tale."

"Yeah, and?"

"That's something most _wizards_ don't manage! Do you have _any_ idea how many innocent families he's killed?! How did you manage it?"

She shrugged, outwardly blasé. "My sister – the freak of the family – turned into some black-haired boy, kicked What's-His-Face's minion's asses, and chatted with What's-His-Face until that senile old fool showed up, at which point he disappeared."

She looked more closely at the boy's blank stare. "Oh, please. You do _magic_. I thought this sort of freaky shit happened all the time!"

He blinked. "What's your name?"

She eyed him suspiciously. Then, "… Petunia," she grudgingly answered.

"Well, Petunia – I'm Edwin, by the way – I can see that there is still a great deal you need to learn about magic." He smiled sheepishly. "I'm Muggle-born too, just like your … sister, you said? So I know kinda where you're coming from." A sudden flash of white as he grinned. "Trust me, we do a lot of 'freaky shit', as you called it, but shapeshifting is _not_ on the Hogwarts curriculum."

She raised an eyebrow – one of the few mannerisms she had picked up from her father. "I heard my sister talking about this one time her boyfriend turned some other kid into a frog."

"That's just Transfiguration." He waved away. "If it was during class, at least … otherwise, I'm thinking your sister probably 'forgot' to mention the disciplinary action leveled on her boyfriend as soon as the Transfiguration teacher – Professor McGonagall; she's the most dried up old stick I've ever seen – found out what he had done."

Something vaguely resembling either a smirk or a sneer. "She would."

"Well, anyway … want me to show you what magic is about? For real, this time?"

She was stuck in a huge castle, her boyfriend of several years duration had just dropped her like a hot poker just because she had been dragged to said magical castle – against her will, she might add … her father was always out and her mother seemed determined to completely ignore the whole thing (and, as a result, spent all her time – literally – eating, sleeping, or curled up in their bedroom reading) … she had absolutely _no _friends here. And if there was one thing to be said about Petunia, it was that she was undeniably a social animal.

Frankly, by this point, she was so desperate for some company that she would gladly have associated with _Lily_, even. This boy – Edwin – who was at least sort of normal (at least he had started out that way …), and moderately intelligent sounding (it didn't hurt that he didn't seem to like her description of Lily's boyfriend all that much), and even a bit cute …

Previous rage almost entirely forgotten, she smiled at him. "Sure."

# # # # #

Harry stirred, caught briefly in that moment between sleep and wakefulness, uncurling to stretch from the near fetal position in which he customarily slept, and encountered an unexpected obstacle.

An … arm?

He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and poked at the long pale fuzzy object. Yup, looked like an arm all right. Now, what would an arm – not including the two he had attached already – be doing in his bed?

Around that time, just as said arm began to shift away and a large dark fuzzy lump began to move, his brain finally caught up with the rest of him and he remembered where he was and why. He had _told_ Severus that he'd be all right sleeping on the floor … stupid Slytherin and his unexpected streak of _chivalry_, of all things …

With this knowledge, came the thought that he knew where his glasses were and it would really be a pretty good idea to put them on so that he could stop perceiving the world around him as just a variety of different sized, shaped, and colored fuzzy lumps.

Putting said glasses on, his vision miraculously cleared just in time to see one black eye slide open and fix itself on him. "You … poked?"

Harry could feel himself flushing. "Sorry. I wasn't quite awake yet."

The edge of the open eye crinkled a bit, and the barest hint of amusement leaked over into his mind. "You really are a Gryffindor, aren't you?"

The spirit propped himself up on his elbow. "And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Severus replied blandly. He sat up slightly himself, peering more closely at Harry. "On your elbow … what is that?"

He looked down. "What?" He asked blankly.

"That … knot. On the inside of your elbow."

Harry sat up fully, stretching his elbow out and peering at it. He finally found the 'knot' Severus had been talking about. "Oh, this." He smiled mirthlessly. "Impromptu blood donation."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "To whom?"

"Voldemort." He waved his hand. "Some potion … bone of the father, flesh of the servant, blood of the enemy … something like that." He smirked. "Bastard wasn't alive to enjoy it too much longer, of course."

"… What was it like, casting that spell?"

"Powerful. Almost heady, in fact … if other Dark Arts are much like that, I begin to see why they might be addictive. I wasn't really concentrating much on the spell itself, though, once I cast it … I had to deal with this odd thing, where the spells from our wands connected and formed this golden line of light …"

Both eyebrows raised.

"What?" Harry demanded at that look, of something between surprise and near awe. "Do you know what that was?"

"It means your wands have brother cores." Severus said quietly. "From the same animal. They refused to fight against each other – that's what the golden line of light was, I expect." He trailed off. "I had thought that was just a legend …"

Harry blinked. "Oh, is that all? I've known _that_ since I first got my wand from Ollivander." He lowered his voice creepily. "I think we must expect great things of you … after all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great."

Severus poked him. "Don't do that."

Harry's voice returned to normal as he flipped on his back to regard the canopy of the bed. "That's the real problem, I think … since the moment I set foot in the wizarding world, people have been doing nothing but expecting me to do great things."

"… I wouldn't mind doing a few great things." Severus mused quietly.

"You did, I'm sure … you were a spy in Voldemort's ranks for I don't know how long; you must have done many great things. Just not the sort of thing that anyone would recognize you for … hell, I never did."

Severus blinked slowly. Unable to keep the surprise entirely out of his voice, he asked cautiously, "Did you … not like me, then?" _I had thought him too Gryffindor – despite his occasional tendencies otherwise – to mask that sort of dislike so well._

A brief, harsh bark of laughter. "Let's put it this way: I disliked Voldemort and the entire Malfoy family – Draco Malfoy in particular, he's Lucius Malfoy's son, and in my year – more. During the summers, I probably disliked my relatives more. Otherwise …" A shrug that Severus could feel more than see.

"… I don't get it. If you hated me so badly, why didn't you just let me die?"

Flatly. "I'm not like James. And once I knew _he_ wasn't going to save you, I knew – from what I had heard of the situation in my world – no one else would." A sigh. "And no matter how little I may have liked you, there's only one person I know that I would wish death on – and I've killed him already." Another pause, and when he began again, his voice was wry. "Besides, you've pulled my fat out of the fire – or at least thought that was what you were doing – more than once. Turnabout is fair play."

"As for the rest of the story …" Harry poked him, this time in the ribs, and Severus fought hard to – and barely succeeded – not squirm. _Snapes are not ticklish. It's undignified._ "I find that Slytherins are like fungus. They grow on you."

There was another question on Severus' mind as well – _why_ had he hated Harry so very much? For he had no doubt that he had – Harry, from all his observations, seemed the sort to take into dislike only those who made him the target of their hatred first.

Another question – assuming he had taken Harry into such dislike, for whatever unknown reason, why on Earth had he saved (or even tried to save) the boy's life? Severus was not like Harry … he had few doubts as to his ability to just stand back and let an enemy die.

But he had been silent too long, and first he had an insult to avenge. Other questions could come later.

"… Severus? What do you think you're doing with that pillow?"

# # # # #

"Harry?"

"Hmm …?" The spirit replied, remarkably coherently, he thought, considering that he was still recovering from their impromptu – and quite intense – pillow fight. This was odd, though … Severus almost sounded _nervous_. Or perhaps it was just his imagination … yeah, on second thought, that made a lot more sense.

"I … well, I've been thinking. I know you don't want to tell me your last name, and even if I don't quite understand the reasons why, I respect that … so, I was thinking … would you be willing to take mine instead?"

Harry blinked. Turned from his spread-eagled position to look at Severus and blinked again. "That," he finally said, "was the _strangest_ proposal I have ever heard."

Severus growled, reaching for another pillow, only to collapse back when he realized there were none within reach. "I didn't mean it like that, you idiot Gryffindor." He sighed. "I was just thinking … if you wanted to become blood brothers with me … I mean, I'd hate to subject you to my family, but from what you've said yours wasn't much better so it's not like you're not used to it …"

Harry blinked again. Was he really …? Yes, indeed, it seemed that Severus Snape, ice cold Slytherin bastard, was _babbling_. "Um …" he interjected hesitantly.

It was gratifying, in an odd way, how immediately Severus fell silent. "I'd love to, but … it's not right." He felt helpless tears gathering at the corners of eyes, but pushed them back angrily. This was not the time for that. "I … you wouldn't want to be my brother if you knew who I really was. And letting you do this without telling you … you'd hate me for it."

"But … I do know who you really are. You're Harry. You're a precocious fourteen-year-old brat who is too Slytherin to be Gryffindor and too Gryffindor to be anyone I'd ever even consider associating myself with and yet I find myself enjoying your company anyway. You're a first-rate flyer, a mean dueler and have too soft a heart for your own good. You're you, Harry. Does anything else really matter?"

Harry shook his head. "No, but … it would to you."

"Trust me on this … it would to you."

# # # # #

Remus had left for Gryffindor Tower to make a start on the pile of homework he had been neglecting more and more since Harry reappeared; Thomas, as well, had begged off – ostensibly, he intended to see if he could find the Muggle studies classroom and/or teacher; privately Harry believed it was more likely to be providing himself with a chance to get well and thoroughly lost.

So it was Harry alone, this time, who made the trek back towards his – or, more appropriately, Severus' – rooms, and Harry alone who happened to encounter two other people in the hall. One, he knew entirely too well, the other not at all.

"You." His aunt Petunia said, with a curious lack of hostility, before turning to the boy beside her – unremarkable in physical aspect, looking about the size to be yet another seventh-year; a Hufflepuff by the badge on his robes. "That's him, Edwin, the kid my sister turned into over Christmas."

She turned back to address him directly. "Are you still Lily? If so, tell her she's an annoying, arrogant, lying bitch."

Harry sneered – if living around Severus had taught him anything, it had vastly improved his abilities at mimicking most of the stereotypical Slytherin expressions – and raised an eyebrow. "I may be transparent at times, but do I really look like _that_ good a mirror?"

The Hufflepuff looked at him with surprise. "My, you've got a mouth for a twelve-year-old, don't you?" He turned to Petunia. "This kid confronted _You-Know-Who_?"

"Yeah, I'd know him anywhere. He has a very distinctive voice, you know. Besides, he's possibly the only boy in this place who's shorter than both me _and_ Lily – I remember seeing her shrink."

Harry didn't see red – though he was forced to admit that there was a certain tinge of pink, just at the edges, mind you, to his vision – but he was definitely grinding his teeth. _Short jokes. Why always the short jokes? And I do _not_ look twelve._

Evidently his face had taken on the color his vision had not, and of course the two people in front of him misinterpreted his color, not as the anger it was in truth, but as embarrassment. "Hey, don't get too upset about it." The Hufflepuff – Edwin? – said, in a kindly condescending sort of fashion. "I didn't hit my growth spurt until I was nearly fourteen, so you've got a couple of years yet."

Petunia nodded, grudgingly adding, "And in my family – especially my dad's side – the guys are notoriously slow growers, sometimes not even starting on the major growth spurts until a year or so after that. You'll get bigger eventually."

"…" Harry resisted the urge to wipe his face with his hand. "First of all, I'm _fourteen_. Or fifteen, depending on how you look at things. Second of all, this is as big as I'll ever be." _And I'm only just now beginning to really understand the disadvantages of spending eternity in the body of a runty fourteen-year-old._

He must have thought that slightly louder than he meant to, for Severus' calming personality spread through his mind for a brief moment, tinged with mirth. _:You're not runty.:_ The Slytherin assured him. A perfectly timed pause. _:Just somewhat vertically challenged.:_ And disappeared again, before Harry had the chance to formulate a decent retort.

Not, if their previous exchanges of this nature were any judge, that he would have come up with one anyway. In fact, the only time he managed to silence the other boy completely was when he had made his incredible, wonderful, absolutely impossible offer.

But that was an interlude that Harry tried his hardest to forget, and he was sure Severus was doing exactly the same. The wounds were simply too raw just yet.

"That's not any attitude to have." The Hufflepuff admonished gently. "Most fourteen year olds are in the middle of their growth spurt, if they've even started yet; I seriously doubt you'd be finished already." _Especially considering how short you still are_, his significant look seemed to add.

An eyebrow twitched. "Were you not listening to Petunia, there? Not that I blame you, mind … I was _possessing _Lily. What does that tend to indicate to you?"

"That you're a dark wizard?" He ventured. "But then, why would you be opposing You-Know-Who?"

Harry again resisted the urge to wipe his face again. "I. Am. Dead. I will not be growing any more because this is how tall I was when I died."

"So you died two years ago?"

_Bloody friggin'_ … "No. I died … well, that's complicated. Less than a month ago by my own reckoning. I died while I was still fourteen." He threw his hands into the air. "I give up! Why on earth am I standing around here discussing my _height_ with two strangers?"

"How did you die?" Petunia.

"I decided anything was better than returning home to spend another summer with my aunt and uncle." He shot back cuttingly.

"But I was always taught that people who suicide go straight to hell …"

Unsurprisingly, it was the Hufflepuff who came up with a semi-intelligent response. "But then why aren't you all ghostly … and shouldn't your wrists be bleeding?" His eyes narrowed. "You were joshing us. Wow, you really are disrespectful, aren't you?"

"Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer." Was Harry's retort. "I'm a Gryffindor. I went out kicking Voldemort's ass. How else?"

"But … this Voldie-whatsits guy is still around …" Petunia said, brow furrowed. "Not only was he at Christmas – which must have been after you died, and he didn't recognize you – but he attacked some small village just yesterday." At Harry's frankly astonished gaze, she reddened. "Well, it's not like there's anything else to do in this stupid old castle but read!"

"I don't know what's more unbelievable …" Harry said slowly. "… the idea of you reading something other than some awful gossip rag … or the fact that you just evidenced some semblance of rational and logical thought."

"Now _that_ is exceedingly unkind, and entirely uncalled for." The Hufflepuff said sharply. "Apologize."

Harry just stared at him flatly. _Make me._ "Whoever said I was from this time period?"

"But you being from the past doesn't make any sense either!"

"You're from the future." Petunia's voice overran the Hufflepuff's, suddenly certain.

"That's impossible …"

"It's magic." Petunia returned. "What can magic _not_ do?"

"Bring back to life people who don't deserve to be dead." Harry said quietly. "Keep bad things from happening to good people. Get rid of disease, hunger, greed, prejudice … oh, especially prejudice …"

"It's what I was trying to tell you earlier, Petunia … wizards are a _lot_ like Muggles, in more ways than most of us are quite willing to admit. We're human too."

Harry was genuinely surprised at how seriously his aunt was taking this _wizard_ – as evinced by the contemplative look on her face; the way she nodded and responded with nothing more than a "Yes … I'm beginning to see that, I think …" She seemed to notice his incredulous stare, turning to him with a sharply irritated "What?"

He shook his head. "I just never thought I'd see the day … Petunia D – Evans actually holding a reasonable conversation with one of the 'freaks' …"

The Hufflepuff immediately registered his protest, while Petunia's return glare intensified, becoming a very searching gaze. He could almost _see_ the lightbulb appearing over her head as she came to a conclusion. "Of course … why didn't I see it before?" She shook her head. "You know me and hate my guts … it would be _just_ like Lily …"

Harry snorted. "Lily has absolutely nothing to do with the reasons why I hate you. You managed to cultivate that _all_ by yourself … you and your husband and your stupid pig of a son!"

She looked for a moment like she would take offense, but then bulled on through. "You have _her_ attitude and eyes and her good-for-nothing boyfriend's face …"

"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?"

# # # # #

Transfiguration was the bane of Severus' existence. Truly, it was. He could swear he had other homework, loads of it. But somehow, _that_ all got done, and Transfiguration … well …

Didn't.

So here he was, once again, trying his hardest to force himself into line and on topic. As he had previously observed, it was not necessarily that Transfiguration was particularly hard – yes, he didn't have quite as good a grasp on it as some other subjects (Potions, for example), but that didn't mean he was _bad_ at it.

Now, his skills at focusing his concentration long enough to actually _do_ the thrice-damned assignments, on the other hand …

He cursed as a wave of anger/disgust flowing over him caused him to jerk his hand – not creating any streaks across the paper, this time, but making a large splotch that was nearly as bad. _What on Earth?!_

_:And I'm only just now beginning to really understand the disadvantages of spending eternity in the body of a runty fourteen-year-old.:_ Severus nearly laughed aloud at the disgruntled tone to Harry's mental voice; and it was certainly too perfect an opportunity to make another dig of his own at the spirit's height.

Still … all funning aside, that level of sheer anger worried him slightly. He had caught the occasional edge of pure hatred once or twice when the subject of Voldemort had come up (or, if not precisely pure hatred, that was certainly the closest the Slytherin could come to labeling that particular emotion), and the mostly negative turmoil when the subject of Dumbledore came up (intentionally rarely), but otherwise, Harry just didn't hate, or even dislike all that virulently. It was almost as if it was against his nature to do so.

And considering that he dearly _hoped_ Harry was not within speaking distance of either Voldemort or Dumbledore …

He was outside the portrait guarding his door before his brain acknowledged the decision to move. _Okay, protective instincts. How very un-Slytherin. _A pause for consideration. _Oh bloody well. _That_ offer was un-Slytherin in the extreme … I still made it, and look where it got me … serves me right, but have I learned anything from the experience?_ The barest hint of an audible snort. _Who am I kidding? Of course not!_

Before too long, he found himself fading into the shadows of an oh-so-convenient corner (he sometimes suspected Hogwarts had something of a sense of humor … he certainly didn't recall this particular hallway being in this particular configuration at any time in the past seven years he'd spent passing through it), out of sight but with a clear view of the altercation.

Two students, one a Hufflepuff seventh year that he vaguely recognized, but could not quite put a name to – was it Edgar? Erwin? Something along those lines … – and another, a girl who looked about the right age to be a seventh year (perhaps older, although that could be just the particular expression her face found itself in), and was entirely unfamiliar. And Harry, of course.

Harry was, perhaps, the greatest surprise. That flash of anger had not just been a fluke; he was keeping better control of it now as far as it leaking across their link was concerned, but it could still be read in every line of his stiff body, in the flash of his eyes and the facial expression that was the best sneer _he_ had ever seen the other boy use (and, even more tellingly, not half bad on an objective scale, either). "… you and your husband and your stupid _pig_ of a son!" He spat – another thing Severus had never seen Harry do before.

The girl (who was she? She didn't look at all familiar, but there were certain features … the occasional movement … that hinted at a sort of near familiarity all the same) looked like she was regarding Harry in an entirely new light.

She began slowly, with a look on her face like she was thinking furiously, trying to fit into place the remaining pieces of a particularly annoying puzzle. "You have _her_ attitude and eyes and her good-for-nothing boyfriend's face …"

The light dawned. What light, he wasn't entirely sure, but for certain the girl had figured _something_ out. And from the way she was holding herself, he figured that it was only a matter of time – and a short time, at that – before they all became privy to whatever conclusions she had just drawn.

And oh, how right he was …

"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" The girl said triumphantly.

All the half-hinted clues came together, those small niggling bits of the puzzle that he had missed the significance of or simply completely and willfully ignored, coalescing in a single moment into a clear conviction that this girl, whoever she was and whatever her relationship to Harry, was absolutely correct.

And in his shock at how much _sense_ it made, and yet how totally and completely _wrong_ it was, only one thought was left.

# # # # #

_:No fucking way.:_

Already reeling, both from the revelation that someone else in this era now knew his name and exactly _who_ – certainly the last person _he_ would have ever expected – had figured it out, that was the final straw.

Looking away from the expression on Petunia's face that was part accusatory and part triumphant, his eyes immediately found and held for one long moment with a certain, much darker pair. Outsiders, seeing the two stare at each other so intently, might have supposed that the two were engaged in some sort of mental rapport; the plain fact of the matter was that both were simply too shocked to think … well, much of anything … much less share said thoughts with one another.

Severus' face was disturbing blank, a bad sign in and of itself, but Harry could literally feel the shock, the disgust and revulsion. Feeling utterly vindicated in his lack of faith in Severus and all the more betrayed, Harry slammed a wall between them, as solid a barrier as he could manage, and, with one last glance at the other two, entirely clueless inhabitants of the hallway, ran.

_It figures … even here in the past, Aunt Petunia has found a way to ruin my life._

# # # # #

Remus was beginning to get seriously annoyed with himself. It seemed that every perfect opportunity he got to make inroads on the piles of pre-NEWT homework all his teachers insisted on giving, he'd always end up staring out the window and thinking – worrying, if he were to be entirely honest – about Harry instead.

Three guesses as to what he was doing now?

It wasn't like he didn't know Harry could take care of himself. Hell, he could probably do so far better than one measly bookworm of a werewolf. The boy had taken out _Voldemort_, for pity's sake … and he had a sneaking suspicion that Lily's family's presence here was also Voldemort – and Harry – related. Add to that the fact that he was dead now, and thus at least nominally safe from harm.

Dropping his face into his hands, he rubbed his temples and sighed. And there he went again …

No, Harry certainly didn't need protection – and definitely not the small, tainted portion he could provide. But … there was something about him … that made him want to give that protection anyway. Ever since that one night … even as a wolf, he had vague memories of searching for something, of finding some odd comfort in the barest remnants of his scent.

He just gave thanks to any gods that existed that he was not allowed to roam free in wolf form, because he had a sick feeling that these days, as a wolf, he would head straight for Harry.

And the least he could do, even if he couldn't protect Harry from anyone else, was to protect Harry from himself.

His gaze – which for a change had been directed sightlessly through his homework instead of, as usual, through the window – abruptly redirected itself towards said window as he stood halfway to get a better view of that flicker of movement he had half-seen out of the corner of his eye.

There it was again, a splash of black across the background of melting remnants of snow and slowly emerging green. His head lifted and he sniffed cautiously, as if he could catch the scent from all the way up there, before he caught himself and lowered his head guiltily. _Damned lupine instincts …_

The figure was in an obvious hurry, probably upset about something … and somehow, even though he knew how unlikely it was, he felt sure that it was Harry.

Then again … perhaps it wasn't quite so far-fetched. After all, who else did he know that headed straight for the Quidditch field when he was upset? And in the middle of February, no less? All right, James and Sirius, perhaps … but they were still in the common room, plotting … something. So it couldn't be them. Ergo …

And yet … _What could possibly have happened to upset Harry so badly in the last – _ he took a quick glance at a nearby clock _ – less than an hour?_

Well, whatever it was, it would regret messing with Harry. _He_ would make sure of _that_.

He spared little more than a glance at the still barely started essay he had been attempting to work on, a glance and a slightly disgusted sigh at the fact that he was, once again, wasting time he really ought to have been spending on said homework.

But then … if there was one thing he had learned through the years, it was that sometimes, there were things more important than school.

# # # # #

"Hey."

"Hey." Harry's voice was duller than usual, Remus noted with concern as he sat down near – but not too near – the younger boy.

"Are you …" _No, stupid question._ "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." The voice flattened even further.

"You know, if you're going to lie, you ought to put more effort into it than that." Remus chided him gently, hoping the amusement in his voice would evoke _some_ response. "I know I may not be able to do anything to help … but … I'm willing to try. Or at least to listen."

"I …" Harry shook his head, a quick jerk. "No." He sighed. "It's my fault anyway … I hoped …" Another jerk of the head. "It doesn't really matter now. I was proven right … no matter how I wished I wouldn't be."

"With what?" He probed cautiously.

"You wouldn't … no, you probably would understand, all too well." _Now_ Harry looked at him, emerald eyes shining, pleading that he understand the spirit's silence … piercing him, it felt, until all his outer layers were stripped away, all secrets revealed, only his soul remaining. "But don't you see?" The voice now conveyed the same plea as the eyes. "I don't want you to understand."

A violent gesture that indicated the Quidditch field, Hogwarts in general, the two of them … everything. "I don't want you to understand, because then, this would change. Everything would change. And … I like what we have now. I don't want to lose you, to lose this friendship we have."

"You wouldn't." Remus replied with absolute conviction. "I've latched onto you for good; you'll never get rid of me now."

A bittersweet smile. "I wish I could believe you … I wish I could believe that, even if you knew the truth, you – _this_ – wouldn't change."

"Believe it."

_That's what Severus said. And now …_ "I can't." His voice rang with finality. "I'm sorry, Remus, truly I am … but I'm not that strong."

_How have you come to mean so much to me?_ His eyes flicked back towards Remus' profile for a brief moment. _If I lost this … I'm not that strong. I _couldn't_ bear it. I wish …_

Two lonely silhouettes sat high in the stands of the Quidditch pitch, together yet infinitely far apart, and silently watched the sun go down.

13 March 2004  
9 September 2012


	14. Chapter 14

Welll … as usual, it took me way too long, and as usual, I have no good excuse for taking this long. *sigh*

Propositional representation: (I, Harry Potter, not own)

(11/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

# # # Chapter 14 # # #

"Papa, Papa!"

The auburn-haired man looked up, more than a little surprised. The last time one of his daughters had called him that, had been … he found he could not remember the last time; just a flashbulb memory of a little girl, red hair in untidy pigtails, proudly showing off the space in her mouth where a tooth had once been.

Yet it was _not_ the redhead, but his blonde daughter that came bouncing into the room, looking happier than she had in a long time. Of course, he had come to terms with the fact that that probably meant she had just picked up on some new bit of dirty gossip … but it was still nice, seeing his child happy.

Following after her, looking ever so slightly bewildered, was a rather nice-looking young man – brown hair, nondescript eyes; mildly handsome in an understated, totally unremarkable sort of way – with a black and yellow patch on his black student robe. _That's Hufflepuff, right? Dedicated and hardworking and loyal … not a bad recommendation._

Goodness knew he'd seen his daughters – both of them, come to think of it – drag home less likely characters in his time. "Hello, I'm Thomas Evans." He said mildly, a gentle reminder to his daughter.

"Oh, right! Edwin, this is my dad. Dad, this is Edwin …" she trailed off, and blinked. "I don't know that I ever caught your last name."

"Sorry about that." Edwin's grin held a healthy self-mocking quality; it was comfortingly memorable in a way that his face in general was not. "I'm Edwin Read."

"Nice to meet you." The man and young man said in unison, prompting a spontaneous, short outburst of icebreaking laughter. Thomas gestured towards the interior of the room. "Please, come in, sit down."

Once they had done so, he fixed his daughter with an amused eye. "I believe you had something you were interested in telling me?"

"Oh yeah! You'll never believe what just happened! You know that guy, at Christmas, that Lily self-Transfigured herself into –" at the word 'self-Transfigured', she glanced at Edwin, as if to verify that that was indeed the correct word to use. _My word … is she overcoming her grudge against magic at last?_ "– you know, the one that told off that evil guy before the senile old fool came?"

"Yes, I remember …" _The question is, why do you? … What have you gotten yourself into now, Harry?_

"Well, I just met him in the hallway! And it was really odd, you know, I hadn't really noticed the resemblance before, but then he started mouthing off at me …" Thomas winced, barely perceptibly. For all his well-meaning prying, he had been literally unable to drag anything more out of Harry about his life outside of Hogwarts (not that he'd been terribly forthcoming about Hogwarts at times, either …) than that he lived with Petunia, her husband (that Vernon character she'd been dating recently), and their son.

So, while it was usually out of character to think of gentle Harry as 'mouthing off' at someone … Thomas suspected that where his daughter was concerned, Harry had suppressed more than a few anger issues.

"And then I realized that he looked _just_ like that lazy good-for-nothing Lily's so proud of …"

"– what have I told you about making fun of your sister's boyfriend?"

"Don't do it where she can hear?" Petunia grinned.

"Petunia …"

"Oh, okay, fine. _Anyway_ …" This more than a little exasperated. "… it occurred to me. He's Lily's son with that – guy – of hers from the future! I just know it! And he ran off with this awful look on his face when I said so, so it _must_ be true!"

Edwin interjected, "I think that was more from seeing Snape appear from a corner the way he did. He's the scariest person in seventh form, you know – even _I'd_ be afraid of meeting him in a dark hallway alone. It's no wonder … Harry, right? … ran off like that!"

"Severus was there?" Thomas was now sure that the pit of his stomach had officially relocated itself to somewhere around his ankles.

_This is bad …_

# # # # #

Transfiguration hadn't stood a chance.

Neither had anything else, really … he had discovered within himself new reserves of strength; specifically the strength of will it took to push all extraneous thought away, burying himself in work. It occurred to him at one point that perhaps that was why Lupin was such a good student … if _he_ had been a werewolf, after all, he was sure that he'd be doing his best to avoid thinking about the subject, too.

But thoughts of Lupin led to other unacceptable thoughts, so those too were shut away. He would _not_ think about it again, he would _not_ test the barrier again – an act remarkable in its similarity to prodding an open wound (one that hadn't even begun to scab over, at that).

Even when they possessed nothing else, Snapes retained their pride. That lesson had been drilled into him at an early age; it was a part of his personality now. No matter what other arguments he might have with his parents – on most of their other child-raising choices, for instance – he agreed on that count.

And he'd be _damned_ if he was going to lose that too.

A knock at the door that he resolutely ignored, knowing that it was not the one person he would actually consider letting in. Yet then there was the whisper of the bottom of the door brushing the carpet, and a sudden charged, expectant silence.

"Oh, you're here after all." A familiar voice chirped, and he fought the urge to bury his face in his hands. "When you didn't answer the door, I wasn't sure … then I remembered you had given me the password." Although he was still resolutely turned away, he could still see out of the corners of his eyes the sheepish face the other boy made.

_I did, didn't I … oh, _smart_ move, Snape …_

Their past few sessions had eroded away most of Pettigrew's nervousness around the lanky Slytherin; he no longer acted _quite_ so much like a small rodent that had been mesmerized by a cobra. So with only slight hesitation, he moved further into the room, flopping down into his seat and in the same movement slinging down the bag he had taken to carrying his supplies around in, pulling it up a moment before it hit the ground with only a small thud.

"So, where were we?"

"I'm done." Severus replied shortly.

That seemed to nonplus him for a moment. "Well, then, could you help me with the third exercise? I'm not quite sure what she means when she says –"

"Pettigrew, please leave." _And take the memories with you …_

The other boy stared at him. Honestly, it wasn't like it was _that_ hard a concept to comprehend. Leave. It was even a one syllable word – even a _Hufflepuff_ should be able to understand that. _Hufflepuff. No, that's a bad direction, too._ "All right, Snape, spill. What's wrong?"

He pierced his yearmate with a look that had – or should have had – 'Why aren't you gone yet?' written all over it. "Nothing."

Instead of quailing (or, even better, getting up and leaving the way he was supposed to), the foolish Gryffindor crossed his arms, planted himself even more firmly and pointedly in his chair, and countered with a not-half-bad glare of his own. "Oh, yeah. I'm sure. Because you're acting just exactly like you always do." And now sarcasm. He was beginning to get the feeling that he had seriously underestimated the most unprepossessing of the Marauders.

"Believe me, I'm acting _exactly_ like I always do." He surprised himself with the bitterness that leaked out between the words; surprised himself even further when he actually allowed the additional words to spill out. "Sarcastic, prideful, aloof, friendless, Slytherin _git_."

"You're not friendless!" Pettigrew protested immediately. Under Severus' frankly disbelieving gaze, he reddened alarmingly but remained adamant. "It's true. I'm your friend, assuming you'll have me … I suspect Remus wouldn't mind either … and even if you won't accept either of us, surely you _know_ Harry's your friend!"

"No. He's not." Severus could feel his gaze shuttering; what little emotion that had been leaking out onto his face before completely shutting off. And he couldn't help but look away from that earnest face.

A long, silent moment passed. Pettigrew finally said, so quietly it was almost merely subvocalized. "It's Harry, isn't it. Your problem has something to do with Harry."

_Shut up. Shutupshutupshutup_. He wanted to hex the Gryffindor for being so perceptive. Or perhaps himself, for being so easy to read. "It's none of your business."

A fist crashed on his desk, startling him into looking at Pettigrew again. Getting caught by the power of the feeling in those eyes, broadcast out for anyone to see. He could not imagine being so open. "_Damn_ it, Snape, don't do this to me. If you won't accept that I'm your friend, know that I'm Harry's. And I know that whatever happened to affect you this deeply, _has_ to have affected him as well."

A deep, calming breath that didn't accomplish its purpose. "_I care for you both_. So stop acting like you got your overweening pride shoved up your _ass_ and tell me what's wrong, so _maybe_ we can actually _fix it_, instead of you just sitting here _wallowing_!"

"I'm not wallowing!" He protested, voice rising in volume to match the other's.

"Well that's what it looks like to me." Pettigrew scoffed. "Besides … what _other_ force known to man could have induced you to finish all your Transfiguration homework early?"

Severus snorted. That was his first mistake. Because suddenly, he found himself laughing, deeply and loudly and more than a bit hysterically, until his chest hurt and he could feel the tears running down his cheeks and the tilting of balance that warned him that falling out of his chair entirely was a distinct possibility.

"Seriously …" Pettigrew finally said, after the laughter finally wound down and they had both caught their breaths. "… I want to help if I can."

Laughter, Severus found, did odd things to his head. He was still slightly breathless, and definitely lightheaded; and he knew he _certainly_ wouldn't be saying anything if he were in his right mind. "It's … there's not much you can help with. I found out something about Harry that he didn't want me to know … and reacted exactly the way he expected me to."

"I take it this was not a good reaction." A dry statement of fact.

"You could say that." A bark of laughter that seemed torn from him – that's certainly what it felt like. _You could also call that the understatement of the century …_ "I'm also afraid he probably misinterpreted at the time, making my reaction out to be worse than it actually was."

"So have you explained this to him?" One look. "You haven't, have you." The blond head came forward to rest on the edge of the desk with a barely audible thunk. The next few words were a bit muffled. "Do you really _want_ to drive him away permanently?"

"No …" Severus whispered, speaking from his heart, for once (like most of the rest of this conversation, actually …) not stopping to think about the benefits or the consequences of his actions. "But … you don't understand …"

"What is there to understand? You go to him, get things straightened out, and you're friends again. Heck, you know how to do that weird telepathy thing; you could solve the whole situation without even moving from your desk!"

"No. I can't." He could feel his barriers beginning to close again, feel himself beginning to return to normal. "He threw up a wall between us. And I keep going back to it … but it's impenetrable. I tried to talk with him … I'm not sure he even knows I made the attempt."

"He doesn't want to be hurt again." Pettigrew said quietly. "Whatever happened between you – I'm not even going to ask, since I doubt you'd tell me and I doubt even more that Harry would want me to know – it sounds like your reaction probably hurt him very badly. And he probably thinks you still feel that way."

A raised eyebrow. "I doubt you've seen him in person since this 'event', have you? You've probably just hidden here in your room and brooded."

"I don't brood."

The stupid Gryffindor laughed in his face. "My friend, you brood more than anyone else I know. But anyway … he probably thinks you still feel the same way as your initial reaction, right? So it stands to reason that the only response to his opening up to you would be more disgust, hatred, whatever. And he doesn't want to have to cope with that."

Put that way, it actually made a great deal of sense. "Then … what do I do?" _Taking advice from a Gryffindor … on how to patch up my relationship with another Gryffindor … just when was it that I lost any semblance of control over my life?_

_Oh, right. When I met Harry._ And, lack of control or no … he wouldn't trade a moment of it for the world.

Pettigrew was rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Oh, for … haul your butt out of this room for once. Look for him. Find him. Corner him, if you must. There's not much he can do to erect a wall against _that_."

# # # # #

He hesitated before the door, feeling more than a little nervous. The only other times he had been here (which he could probably count on one hand), it had been because Harry had dragged him here, for some reason or another … recently, he'd stopped, choosing (Severus assumed) to drag the werewolf instead.

Severus had never really understood the ghost's attachment to the older man … sure, he'd heard the story of how they'd gotten to know each other when Harry had been stuck in Evans' head, but still … their feelings for each other, whatever they were, seemed a bit too deep, with too solid a foundation, for as short a time as they must have had together.

But now …

It was amazing, how much sense Harry's identity made, when applied to quite a number of basic puzzles. Why he – the future himself – had hated him so virulently, for one … that sort of grudge, Severus could easily see himself as bearing, though he knew full well that that didn't reflect terribly well on him as a person. For another, why it was that Harry knew so much and seemed to feel so deeply about this specific group of people – they weren't just strangers, or the younger iterations of famed martyrs and despised teachers, but a very real part of his history.

Especially with eyes like Harry's, eyes that he had seen on only one other human (though it was his personal belief that Harry pulled them off with a great deal more panache), it was inconceivable to think of James Potter as procreating (and _Merlin_, that was a scarring thought … even worse than the thought of himself having children!) with anyone other than Lily Evans.

Which meant that Thomas Evans wasn't just some random man that Harry had struck up a friendship with because he had been feeling friendless and alone (stuck in Evans' head, who could blame him?), but his grandfather, one he had no memories of being alive. And judging from their relationship, it seemed quite possible that Mr. Evans _knew_, too. (In fact, the only thing that kept him from marking that off as a complete certainty was Severus' firsthand knowledge of how religiously Harry kept his secrets – and just how damn good he was at doing so.)

He shook his head sadly, smirking wryly at himself. He had never thought himself as a person particularly inclined towards woolgathering … yet it seemed that he would go to some pretty great lengths to avoid having to deal with Harry – and, more specifically, trying to repair the damage he had done to his relationship with the younger boy. _Not_ precisely his forte.

He knocked tentatively, and was not quite sure whether to be relieved or simply more nervous when the door went ahead and opened almost immediately. "Mr. Snape." The auburn-haired man ventured cautiously. "Please, come in."

Once inside, however, the door closed with a finality that Severus found disturbing – the sort of finality that spawned flowery metaphors about tombs. "What do you want?" The older man asked, and this time there was a very definite edge of steel to his tone.

Severus grabbed his courage in both hands (perhaps not Gryffindor courage, but it would have to do), took a deep breath, and spoke. "I was wondering if you knew where Harry was?"

"Why do you want to know?" Even the illusion of velvet had disappeared, and Severus was suddenly struck with the realization that no, you did not have to be a wizard to be (or seem) quite dangerous.

In reaction to the sudden rise in perceived danger level, Severus' Slytherin instincts rose closer to the fore; he answered cautiously, "I … discovered something about him – on accident, mostly, though it was partly my fault as well – that he didn't really want me to know … and I reacted badly. And, well … Iwantedtoapologizetohimfortr eatinghimthatway."

"What sort of thing?" The Muggle asked, deceptively offhandedly.

Severus eyed him with suspicion. "A private thing. I suspect you already know … but if you don't, I won't be the one to tell you. That's Harry's choice."

"You said you reacted badly to the revelation … how do you feel about it now?"

"… like a royal idiot." Severus finally admitted, after a long silence. "It was … well, even to begin with, I don't think my reaction was as bad as he thought it was … more, complete shock than anything else …" he paused. "Afterwards, it dawned on me just how irreparably stupid I had been … Harry is Harry, no matter what his … well, that information. It doesn't make that much of a difference. Or shouldn't." Argh … and now he was tripping over his words again. _Gee, Snape … you make that sound like a new thing …_ "Or … I won't let it."

"Commendable intentions."

A wry twist made its way onto Severus' mouth, but he said nothing to directly contradict the older man. _And a little force helpfully applied in the person of – what else – a Gryffindor that, I'm sure, will someday drive me insane …_

Thomas gestured towards the quartet of comfortable, burgundy chairs grouped off to the side of the room. "I'm afraid Harry's not around right now, but he's been spending quite a bit of time here lately … he'll probably be back eventually. You're welcome to wait."

Severus nodded his thanks, moving over to sit gingerly in one of the chairs, and was mildly surprised to see Evans' father come over to join him, sitting in the chair across from his. "Hey, you know … couldn't you do that telepathy thing?" The man broke the not entirely awkward silence that had fallen.

Severus looked away. "I tried …" he admitted quietly. "But I can't. Ever since … well, _then_ … he's built this amazingly strong wall between us. I can't reach him like that … not without trying to force the wall down. And I don't want to do that to him."

"I take it that's why you haven't done the little fiddling trick, either?"

The Slytherin nodded again. It had been hard, controlling himself to the extent necessary to avoid that – in most cases, so habitual as to be nearly involuntary set of movements. But he knew Harry would … well, no, he really had no clue what Harry would do if he found himself intentionally trapped in Severus' mind without prior consultation. But he had a sneaking suspicion it would not be pretty. And at this point, the _last_ thing he wanted to do was alienate the spirit further. _I've done enough of that lately as it is …_

"Picking up new bad habits to compensate?" Thomas asked, amusement lighting his face. Severus belatedly realized that he had been drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair, and even more belatedly stopped.

"… Something like that …" He grumbled, not entirely sure why he had dignified that with a response in the first place. _Damn Gryffindors … I'm going to lose my edge completely before this is through._

The amusement was still there. "I take it you're not much of one for small talk."

Severus almost breathed a sigh of relief at being back on familiar grounds. "Slytherins don't _do_ small talk."

"So you're really looking to perpetuate that link between Slytherin and being evil, aren't you?" The man shrugged. "Though personally, even if I was an evil Slytherin, I'd learn to use small talk, in addition to being as close to the perfect gentleman as I could manage. Seems to me that _that_ would be far more effective at gaining one's target's trust and putting them off guard – which, in turn, I'd think would make life significantly easier."

Severus just _stared_, for a long moment. _Why … I do believe I _like_ him._ He couldn't help the slow grin threatening to take form on his face, as he shook his head. "It's really a shame you're a Muggle, Mr. Evans … you would have made a _brilliant_ Slytherin."

"Says you." Came a laughing, terribly familiar voice from behind.

He nearly shot from his seat, checked the motion, and ended up coming back down sideways with a _whomp_ that rattled his bones, as he looked up at Harry.

The spirit stifled a quick smile at Severus' undignified landing, before going very solemn as the two shared a long look. Severus tried to put into that look everything he felt; the shock at the revelation, the last thing he would have expected even though the clues were all there; the fact that the disgust had been directed more at himself – at the person he would someday become – for being so foolish as to get stuck on the name and never be willing to learn about the person hidden underneath; the empty place that had developed somewhere near where he supposed his heart must reside when it seemed like he had lost the Harry's friendship for good.

In return, he saw the pain he had caused by his reaction and cautious hope. It was that hope that galvanized him, that gave him the courage to stand again (more carefully, this time). "I …"

"You. You're the one who hurt Harry." And there was Lupin; for the first time since that dark night he tried his best to forget, he looked at the other seventh-year and saw, very clearly, the wolf glaring through those unnatural amber eyes.

"Remus, no …" he heard Harry as if from a distance; all his attention was now focused on the werewolf.

"Yes. I hurt Harry." He accepted the accusation calmly, knowing it to be truth. "But it was never my intention to. It was a shock, and I never react well to shock … I didn't fully understand what I had done until it was far too late to change."

It was the flare of hope that he couldn't have possibly seen in the other's eyes that brought his attention to the breakdown of the mental barrier between them. His eyes were drawn inexorably towards Harry's. "I'm sorry I overreacted. And even more sorry that my dignity kept me from coming to straighten matters out long before now."

_:You truly don't mind? That I'm a Potter?:_

Severus cast his mind back to a certain thought he had had on the subject of life debts and, while he managed to muffle the threatening smile, could not quite manage to catch the thread of amusement that escaped across the link. _:Other than an increased certainty that I was placed on this Earth for the sole purpose of having the Gods laugh at me …:_ He tried to express some of his blazing conviction across the link; wasn't sure how well he'd succeeded. _:You're still Harry, Harry.:_

_:I'm glad.:_ The relief and joy blazed across the link in counterpoint to the bland words. _:I … and I'm sorry, that I couldn't have enough faith in you to believe that you would accept me for who I am.:_

_:If I had known before I got to know _you_ … your faith would probably have been entirely justified. I am a particularly prejudiced individual in certain cases – and the Potter line is one such case.:_

The former fourth-year pursed his lips. _:Can I … ask you something? You don't have to agree, it's just … I figure my mum and dad –:_

_:Could you not call them that?:_ Severus interrupted, wincing slightly. _Bad mental images. Ugh._

_:– hmm, yeah. Sorry. I figure James and Lily will have children someday, even if they don't have a son named Harry James Potter. Just … if their child or children ever come here, could you look out for them a little? Help them see that life isn't just Gryffindor and pranks?:_ A pause that gave the impression of blinking. _:That is … if you're teaching here the way you were back in my world.:_

_:I'd much rather see if I could go into some sort of research and development outfit.:_ Severus agreed. _:But … surely you'll be around still, too? You seem to be drawn to this era, maybe you can settle down and stay once we get Dumbledore off your back.:_

_:The gods only know how this situation will turn out … I know I sure don't.:_ Was Harry's slightly weary reply. _:In some ways, I'd like to. Many ways. But … if I'm not …:_

_:I'll see what I can do.:_

_:Thank you.:_

"I'll … be leaving, then …" The werewolf's uncertain voice impacted only minimally on them both; Thomas' soft "That might be best for now" hardly more so.

"So …" They both began, then laughed a little – well, Severus was chuckling, but that was still more or less in line with the general feeling. Harry came around and sat down in a third of the four chairs in a manner that spoke of long familiarity with the area; with that cue, Severus sat back down as well.

"I'm sorry for underestimating you and all … I should have been more trusting." Harry repeated, cheeks tinged pink from embarrassment.

"Indeed you should." Severus sniffed. "Honestly, Harry, you're a _Gryffindor_. Leave paranoia to the professionals."

"What, Slytherin?" He quipped, the smile slowly making its way back onto his face. "But … really …"

"I'll cut you a deal." Severus interrupted, not eager to hear yet another apology. _Foolish Gryffindor … it's like he doesn't even _realize_ that _I'm_ the one entirely in the wrong_. "I'll forgive you if you stop apologizing."

The smile quirked briefly. "All right." He leaned back in his chair. "You know … I just want you to know, that even though I wasn't able to trust you enough to tell you my secret … I do trust you to keep it."

"Nothing less than Veritaserum could force me to give it up." He pledged.

"I just wish I knew for sure that the same could be said of Aunt Petunia and –" he paused, stumped.

"Read?" Severus offered. When no decrease in incomprehension made itself known, he clarified. "Edwin Read? The Hufflepuff?"

"– yeah, Edwin, that was it."

Thomas came over, folding himself into his original chair. "I've had a talk with them, and I _think_ I've impressed on them the seriousness of the situation."

Harry made a face. "Well … if they had told anyone, it would be all over school already, I suppose. I guess it makes a difference that Aunt Petunia doesn't really have anyone around to be gossipy _with_."

"So that girl was your aunt?" Severus asked. _… you and your husband and your stupid _pig_ of a son_.

Harry nodded shortly. "I had not believed it, but it seems that she grew worse with age … right now, she is actually almost … bearable. Perhaps it is the lack of Uncle Vernon."

Thomas grunted. "I wouldn't be surprised. That boy … well, there's nothing _wrong_ with him, that I can see, per se … but everything I've seen of him tends to indicate that he's quite close-minded. And I think the more Petunia hung around him, the more her own inclinations in that direction developed."

Harry laughed. "No, Uncle Vernon never did have much use for us freaks."

"Just as well, then, that they seem to have cut it off …"

The auburn-haired man was cut off by precisely the daughter under discussion as she flopped down into the fourth chair. "No need to be diplomatic, Dad. He dumped me, simple as that." She raised an eyebrow. "Not, you understand, that I'm trying to perpetuate the illusion that who I go out with is any of your concern whatsoever – or his."

Harry regarded the ceiling. "It would have been nice to have had some input in who I got dumped on in about four years' time … not that I was precisely lucid, yet, but the thought would still have been appreciated." He blinked at Petunia. "Hopefully, you won't have to worry, since I'm hoping to find some way to nip the whole Voldemort-killing-my-family thing in the bud."

"Lily died?" Petunia's eyes widened.

"I'm told that I – and presumably your mother – was originally slated to die last Christmas Eve, as well." Her father added cheerfully.

"Am I the _only_ one in the family who survived?" Petunia asked, voice pitched higher than usual.

"Well … Vernon's sister Marge came and visited occasionally …" Harry offered. "Any other cousins on your side of the family – are there any? – either were dead, far away, or liked you and Uncle Vernon and Dudley about as much as I did."

Oddly, Petunia reacted only with a bit of a thoughtful frown to his insulting implication. She then abruptly stood. "I think I need to go … think. For a while." She retreated into her room, but then only moments later reappeared, wearing a black robe a bit too long for her with the Hufflepuff patch sewn in on the left.

At the other three's considering stares, she flushed. "He lent me one of his robes. It's just camouflage. Honestly!" And, burning even redder, stalked out.

Severus' gaze, following her, was frankly speculative. "Methinks you may not have a problem with Uncle Vernon after all."

Harry shrugged. "That's good, I suppose … in any case, either way it's over and done with for me. Not much I can do to change things in my own past."

Severus understood _that_ feeling. _Am I really considering …? Ah, what the hell … the worst thing he could do is refuse me again._ He cleared his throat self-consciously. "On the subject of family … now that I _do_ know your secret … I was wondering …"

Harry smiled, very faintly. "That was an important secret, but I don't know that you'd even call it my biggest one …" A moment of clear indecision. "… but I would love to, if you'll still have me."

Severus smiled, truly smiled, and was surprised at just how good it felt. "Of course! After all, being stuck as a _Potter_ … what sane, merciful individual _wouldn't_ do their best to free you from such horror?"

Despite himself, Harry grinned.

# # # # #

The common room was too noisy, the library too oppressively quiet. The lake and the grounds, despite the still moderately chilly temperatures, were too well populated by people – most of them too happy. And the Quidditch pitch …

… Well. It was just too … Harry. And despite the (very) predictable way his thoughts seemed to be headed … he didn't want to do his thinking somewhere that reminded him quite so … _pointedly_ of Harry.

His wandering feet finally stopped him down near the gamekeeper's hut. … Hagrid, that was his name. This was a place he had not come near often, preferring to keep his distance from the man who was said to have a penchant for all sorts of dangerous creatures. He would be just the sort of person to recognize Remus for who – or, more precisely, _what_ – he really was …

He exhaled a deep, heartfelt sigh – exactly what feelings, even he wasn't entirely sure – as he sat down, leaning back against a handy fencepost and gazing contemplatively up at the cloudy sky. Grey. It seemed oddly appropriate at the moment.

_All right, Remus John Lupin … what just crawled up _your_ ass and died?_

He couldn't think, offhand, of anything in particular that ought to be disturbing him … but, considering the frequency with which his thoughts seemed to be returning to the scene he had just left, it seemed a good guess that that had something to do with it.

He had rarely – and recently, even less than usual – subscribed to James and Sirius' assertion that everything is Snape's fault. In this case, however, he found himself making an exception. This was _clearly_ Snape's fault.

Dammit, he had _been_ there right after the fact; he had _seen_ just how broken up Harry was over whatever Snape had done. And it made his blood boil that he had just … _forgiven_ him. After a _half_-decent (at best!) apology, Harry had just accepted him back like nothing had never happened!

And then they had just _stood_ there, staring into each other's eyes … like the rest of the world had just completely ceased to exist. (The more reasonable part of his mind noted that they had probably continued their conversation via the telepathic link Harry evidently had with the people whose bodies he shared, and that Snape might even have apologized better in the privacy of their heads. He did his best to ignore it.)

And Mr. Evans. Remus would be the first to admit the man was pretty cool, as adults went, but Harry seemed to go beyond that … and he still hadn't figured out what secret those particular two shared. It just made him …

He sighed, and his head somehow migrated into his open palms. _You know what your real problem is?_ He taunted himself. _You've grown used to having Harry around, and having him want to be around you. You're _jealous_ that he's spending time with other people – that these other people mean something to him too. _

_And who wouldn't mean more to someone like Harry than a beast like me? It's only natural, him wanting to find others of his own kind to associate with. You've grown spoiled, werewolf. _

He knew this, knew he should stand back and allow Harry to make his own decisions. _Especially since I don't know the whole story._ Knew that he _would_. But … Merlin … it was so _hard_, watching his friend gaze soulfully into the Slytherin's eyes … so hard, repressing the anger and hurt that was his yet was also flowing from that part of his mind that he tried his hardest to control, that part that he identified with his werewolf identity.

He _shouldn't_ feel hurt. He _knew_ this. He knew Harry would never intentionally hurt him – first, because Harry just wasn't like that, and second because, whatever else, he liked to think the two of them were friends of a sort. He knew all this, but somehow …

… It didn't help.

1 May 2004  
9 September 2012


	15. Chapter 15

Hey … sorry this is late. (though I suppose you all should be used to that by now …) Um … I finally saw the third movie (which, combined to listening to some of my Coexistence-earmarked music, is probably a large part of why this chapter is actually done now …) Can't think of anything else of note that really needs to be said at this point …

Other than HarryPotterdoesnotbelongtome and, of course, enjoy!

(11/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

# # # Chapter 15 # # #

The portrait looked just the way Edwin told her it would. A placid farm scene that reminded her fondly of one of the art pieces back at home – though after they had moved to their new place several years ago, those had all been stored in the attic, simply because no one could be bothered to figure out where and how to put them up.

Normal, that is, until the busty blonde good-natured looking woman (about as stereotypically the farmer's wife as they come) turned to look at her. Her brow furrowed. "I'm afraid I don't recognize you, dearie."

She tried to smile endearingly. "Yes, but Edwin told me all about you. So I simply had to come down and see you for myself."

"Ah, Edwin!" She looked positively thrilled. "That dear boy … and I suppose that's his robe you're wearing?" The woman winked at her, and Petunia found herself blushing, despite the fact that she knew their relationship was nothing like what was being implied. "And here I thought he'd _never_ find himself a girlfriend."

"I – we're – it's not like that …" She countered weakly, and received a doubtful look in return.

The picture seemed to decide to relent on her teasing. "I'm sorry, but I really can't let you in – that's what you wanted, right? – not without someone else vouching for you in person." Seeing Petunia's face fall, she made a sympathetic clucking noise. "Now, don't be like that … why don't you go to the library? I bet you could find at least one friend of yours there."

Petunia highly doubted it, considering that, being a Muggle, she knew no one here – with the exception of her sister, Edwin, and possibly that rude spirit-boy, Harry, and the scary-looking black-haired guy, Snape, she thought his name was? And only Edwin was Hufflepuff, and thus able to vouch for her. Well, she didn't know which House Harry was in. (Do spirits have Houses?) But she sincerely doubted it was Hufflepuff (not to mention the fact that she doubted he'd be willing to vouch for her even if he were). Still, she supposed there was no harm in trying.

After politely thanking the portrait, she turned back down the corridor from which she had come.

Now, all she had to do was _find_ the place …

# # # # #

First was the terribly unladylike snort, cut off suddenly by a belated attempt to suppress it. Then came the incredulous giggles, also carefully suppressed – this time with an apprehensive look towards the librarian – Pinch, was it? The odd name (but then, weren't nearly all of these wizarding names odd?) almost set off a new spate of laughter.

Finally – after yet another absurd passage, the straw that broke the camel's back – full-blown laughter, the sort that revived itself just as she thought she had suppressed it properly; laughter impervious to the librarian's strangely half-hearted glare – in fact, said glare could almost have been said to be responsible for making her laugh even harder.

"Mind if I ask what's so funny?" A girl with sun-highlighted medium brown hair, tied up in an untidy ponytail, and a kind-seeming face asked. "I could use a laugh."

Entirely incoherent, she did her best regardless, turning the moderately slim novel in the other girl's direction (gasping, at the same time, something even less coherent of which James Bond was the only phrase that came through at all clearly); careful to keep her finger on (or at least near) the offending passage.

Another girl she had not at first noticed – shorter and with dark hair and medium-brown skin, she seemed to have a tendency to fade into the other girl's shadow – peered over the shoulder of the first. And she was evidently the faster reader of the two, for just as the taller girl was beginning to grin, she frowned. "I'm … not sure I get it. That's a funny book, sure, I've read it myself. But there's nothing in particular funny about that passage … actually, you haven't really –"

"You can't use a TV to do _that_!" The other girl burst through her friend's rambling, as Petunia nodded her complete agreement. That might have been the end of it, except for the fact that, at that moment, the two – the dirty blonde and Petunia – made the mistake of making eye contact.

Several minutes later, after the giggles had finally slowed to a natural stop, the dirty blonde flopped unceremoniously into one of the several chairs around Petunia's table. "Elle Andersen." She stuck her hand out. "Don't mind Ronnie here … she's a pureblood, she can't help it."

"Pureblood … that's when both your parents were wizards – ah, a wizard and a witch, I mean – right?"

"Correct, technically." Elle said cheerfully. "Of course, in Ronnie's case, she's a _true_ pureblood – all umpteen bajillion of her ancestors were _also_ witches and wizards."

"Don't mind her." The second girl advised quietly, holding her hand out in a much more … decorous manner. "My family's only been 'pure', so to speak, since the early 1800s … not at all long, as far as those who really care about the subject are concerned. I'm Veronica Ha, by the way. You?"

"Petunia Evans." All three hands sort of collided in the middle, provoking another round of grins and giggles.

"Evans … that sounds familiar … not pureblood, though, I don't think …" Veronica – or Ronnie, as she seemed content to be called – seemed to be attempting to pin Petunia with an inquiring gaze; one that failed miserably due to the fact that it was also clearly abstracted by her continued attempt to place the name 'Evans'.

"Look at her, trying to fit you into one of her neat little pureblood holes." Elle jeered good-naturedly. "Let me guess, you're a fellow dirty mudblood."

Ronnie gasped.

Petunia narrowed her eyes in thought. "I believe the term is … Muggle?"

"Muggleborn." Elle corrected. "I guess you don't know … funny, I'd have thought you'd have learned the term by now, especially since some of the more bigoted of the Slytherins and Gryffindors tend to enjoy targeting us Hufflepuffs …" she gestured briefly to the yellow and black badge that adorned all three of their chests "… mudblood is a particularly crude and insulting word for Muggleborn."

Petunia shook her head. "No, I'm almost certain the word was 'Muggle'. Nonmagical person, right?"

"You mean …"

"I got it!" Ronnie snapped her fingers. "The Head Girl. She's an Evans, too. Redhead, first name Lily, or something like that, I think … any relation of yours?"

Petunia's face soured. "My sister. Unfortunately."

Ronnie suddenly grinned rather widely. "Ah, Gryffindor siblings … I don't know that I've ever known one that was even halfway bearable to his or her 'less fortunate'" the words the petite girl had put in air quotes simply dripped with delicate sarcasm "non-Gryffindor siblings. I know _my_ sister regularly drives me up the wall. I assume your sister follows that trend?"

"And driving Ronnie is crazy is a lot harder than it sounds." Elle interjected with an air of long experience.

"In spades." Petunia was happy to affirm her sister's unbearableness. For the first time, she realized with a spurt of surprise, she was almost beginning to feel at home in this place. Sure, it was drafty, and a lot darker than she preferred, especially at night (these people seemed to have completely missed out on the concept of 'electricity', and she wasn't entirely sure how well they grasped 'gas lamps', at that).

And Edwin was great and all. But these were girls. And it felt like it had been so long since she had just sat around with a couple of other girls and … talked. And giggled. And traded grievances. Hard to believe it had been mere months ago, if that. It seemed like another lifetime … as if she had been another person entirely then.

She remembered giggling with her old friends – and that's how she thought of them now, despite her attempts to keep herself from thinking that way; there was just some part of her that had been convinced, ever since that disastrous night when that man had shown up in his black robes and ordered her family's death, that she would never see the Muggle world again.

She had changed. Or perhaps the entire world had changed around her. Either way, she found herself having a hard time remembering the girl who had giggled over makeup and debated who the hottest guy on the football team was and snubbed another girl for wearing glasses – and being unable to afford any but the ugliest ones.

What did any of that matter, now, when any of them could be killed – hell, could have already been dead for months, and her simply having no way of knowing – in an instant, as her family would have been killed if not for the appearance of that spirit. The wars and death going on in the Muggle world – and that was the word that came to the tongue most easily, now; she no longer called it, with no second thought, _her_ world – were one thing … but this, this destruction hidden from the eye of most of the world … leaving her people terribly, horribly unprepared for the threat that could descend on them at any time …

With _that_ to think about, make up suddenly developed an odd tendency to lose its allure.

No hint of laughter remained at the table. "So who was it with you?" Elle asked softly. "Ronnie's lost cousins and an aunt … I haven't lost anyone yet, thank God, but my family's pure Muggle … somewhat harder to find and seen as less … worthy of note."

"That won't protect them." Petunia said bleakly. "Oh, maybe What's-His-Face won't come after them directly … but there's always the chance that they'll just happen to have the bad luck to live on a street that he decides to target that night … no, being a Muggle is no protection at all. It certainly wasn't for me."

She slammed to her feet. "Something needs to be done. Sure, I peeked in on your world a little bit through my sister – as little as possible, to tell the truth; I was quite happy to avoid like the plague anything that she was involved in – but it never occurred to anyone to mention to us that there was an evil wizard out for _our_ blood. So maybe we're not wizards; my dad could have gone out and bought a shotgun or something if he had known – had even guessed! – the magnitude of the threat.

"Instead, we would have died, _all_ of us, of that I have no doubt, if not for some sp – kid who appeared and delayed What's-His-Face long enough for the cavalry to arrive. _All_ of us would have died, not just my Muggleborn magical sister who was the only one who actually _knew_ anything about the monster.

"The Muggle world _needs to know_. They need to be able to actually _do_ something about the threat, dammit … instead of just hanging around in their homes like sitting ducks, completely unaware that there even _is_ a threat."

"What are you going to do about it?" The voice came from behind her; she somehow managed to whirl and jump approximately a foot off the ground at once. Behind – or, more precisely now, in front of – her, Edwin applauded. "That was quite an impressive jump. You're sure you've never done any accidental magic?"

"I'll leave that sort of nonsense for my sister." Petunia returned tartly, if not precisely as unkindly as the words might have been uttered. "100% pure Muggle, that's me."

Edwin pulled up a chair with a foot, slouching into it with equal informality but slightly less energy than Elle had, with a quick "Veronica. Arabella." to acknowledge the other two sitting at the table. "So … my previous question?"

A helpless gesture. "I don't know … I just know _something_ needs to be done. And since no one else seems likely to do it … _I will_."

"I'm with you." Elle said immediately. "I may not have done anything to protect my family before, but … I thought they were _safe_. Yet … what you have to say – or rant would be a better term – indicates my family is not as safe as I thought. And I will do anything to restore that safety and make it _real_."

Edwin nodded solemnly. "Muggleborn we may be … but there are some times where we still take on too many of the preconceptions of this world unquestioningly. For all that we were once Muggles, we have a tendency to approach problems in the magical ways we've been taught. We never did anything, not because we didn't want to, but because it never occurred to us to." Another nod, this one sharp. "I'm with you as well."

"It is my guess that most Muggleborns would agree with you." Ronnie added. "I … don't really have much to contribute, but if it helps … I'll support you too."

Elle again. "So, now you've got a core; we'll gather more, starting here in Hufflepuff of course but eventually branching out." She mock-saluted. "We'll have the people, General Evans. What's our plan?"

Petunia raised her eyes to the sky, imploring the ceiling of the library.

"Why do _I_ always get asked the hard ones?"

# # # # #

"Another Slytherin Rule – yes, that is a capital letter you hear – that you've made me break." Severus looked at Harry ruefully. "'Always be prepared' … well, I'm not at all prepared. I don't even have any of the necessary paperwork."

"So make do with a depressingly Gryffindoric sentiment." Harry grinned unrepentantly. "'It's the thought that counts'."

Severus' thunderous frown left no doubt at all in Harry's mind as to what the Slytherin's opinion of _that_ was.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Well, it's true, you know. Even if you don't have the means to make it official yet – and, considering that Dumbledore would inevitably manage to dig his way into any _official_ records and pinpoint you, that's actually probably for the best – just the fact that you offered means a lot to me."

Severus reached over to poke him in the chest gently. "That's because _you're_ depressingly Gryffindoric."

"Guilty as charged." Harry admitted cheerfully. "Don't worry about it, Severus. You're my brother now whether you like it or not. The legalities don't matter … and considering that I don't exist yet, are probably meaningless anyway."

Thomas coughed, and the two turned to him with questioning looks in their eyes. He waved them off. "Oh, nothing … just trying to imagine the reaction the appropriate Muggle authorities would have to this situation. 'Alright, you want to adopt this guy as your brother, whatever … birth year, please? Four years from now, right … _huh_?!'"

Thomas grinned, Severus snorted – a clearly amused snort – and Harry outright laughed. It was a remarkably congenial moment. The sort of moment that lasts for a while before it fades away just as gently as it came, leaving everyone with a reminiscent smile on their face. So when, for a moment, Thomas and Severus became aware that they could see the far wall through Harry's head, as he seemed to hesitantly … _flicker_, it's reasonable that they didn't at first believe it.

In general, disappearances – and Harry's previous ones certainly seemed to follow that trend – tended to be in situations fraught with peril, of whatever sort; or at the very least significant angst. This disappearance was none of those things. As gentle and painless as the death of the moment could have been, he was simply …

Gone.

# # # # #

"What do you mean, he's _dead_!" The exclamation that bordered on becoming a shriek shook Harry, as it came on the heels of his realization that he was no longer with Severus and Thomas, shattering the precious peace of mind that had stolen over him for those few moments.

"I know anything else is beyond you, but I thought you were capable of understanding monosyllabic words, Mister Weasley."

Harry was torn between righteous indignation – that _was_ awfully harsh – and a sneaking amusement at Snape's way with words. Another thing death had given him, he supposed … just enough distance to be able to appreciate that Snape might be cutting and entirely too harsh … but he generally did so with at least a bit of subtle humor, even if the only one laughing (as it were) was himself.

"How did it happen, sir?" That, ever analytical (though with far redder eyes than usual … that, more than anything, stirred guilt in Harry's heart), was Hermione, steamrolling over Ron's incoherent spluttering.

Snape hesitated. "He … encountered You-Know-Who, and used a spell to destroy him that claimed his life in payment." A gesture towards a small urn sitting on the desk that looked vaguely familiar. "Leaving only … that."

Hermione blinked. "That sounds … yeah, Harry would do that." She smiled tearfully. "The great idiot."

Harry huffed. "What do you mean by – hey, where are _you_ going?"

The adults in the room simultaneously glanced in his direction, eyes widening; before returning their attention to the oblivious younger generation.

"If you don't mind, sir, I'll be leaving now." Hermione told Dumbledore, her tone (though slightly wavery) leaving no possibility of mistaking it for anything but a pointed statement of intention.

"But – We don't – You're going to trust _Snape_?!"

"Why would he lie?"

"I –" Ron faltered. He spun away, so only Harry saw his face crumple as he struggled valiantly for control, then ran from the room. The guilt that had begun niggling with Hermione's teary eyes and barely controlled voice crashed entirely when he saw how broken Ron had become. _Is this … just because of _me_?_

Snape's eyes met his directly, and surprisingly nothing happened, except for a small, slow nod and a twitch of the head in the direction of the now-open door. Harry smiled weakly, giving his own nod before flitting out through the door. _Perhaps there is a bit of the old Severus in Snape after all …_

Appearing in the hallway outside the office, he looked in either direction. Nothing; Ron must already have turned a corner. He listened alertly, and thought for a moment that he heard a rush of footsteps, but they were quiet enough and Hogwarts a drafty enough old place that it would take someone far more experienced than himself to figure out exactly where the steps were coming from – or, more importantly, going. _So, knowing Ron, w__here is he likely to have gone?_

Deciding to be methodical about it, he figured the first place to go would be their dorm room – that would be a good place for Ron to go for privacy, odd as it might seem: the five of them had learned quite early that when someone drew their curtains, they generally didn't want to be bothered; and most of the time they were good at respecting that wish.

Taking another contemplative look around the area, he tried to recall exactly where Gryffindor Tower was in relation to the office. No luck. Finally, with a shrug, he bent down (for effect, if nothing else – not like he was standing on anything) and sprang through the ceiling.

Two bathrooms (girls' bathrooms, the both of them, of course, but thankfully both empty), a dark empty room and several hallways later, he was to the Fat Lady's portrait. Blasting through the common room, he took the stairs only in that he flowed through the ceiling of the various stairwells on his way up, finally ending just outside his former dorm room.

A deep breath as he entered, to try to quell the rising anxiety. _This is stupid. What am I feeling anxious about? It's not like anything I say or do will have any effect on him._

Another, sharper stab of that feeling as he reached the curtains across the bed – and yes, they were drawn in, forming a barrier between Ron and the rest of the world. Tentatively, he stuck his head in. There was Ron, sitting up … with something that looked a lot like a photo album in his lap. As he drifted closer, he saw that it was indeed a photo album. _His_ photo album.

"You look so happy in that picture." Ron whispered as he peered closely at one of Harry's personal favorites. His father tossed him up in the air and caught him; his mother stood, caught eternally in a moment between scolding her husband and laughing herself, and baby Harry? His shrieks of delight – for that was obviously what his mouth was shaping – were so perfectly captured that if one listened closely, they could almost hear an echo of the ageless sound.

"I still remember the first time I met you, you know. I had almost managed to forget it … as I'm sure you could guess, given how I acted towards you at times this year." Ron grimaced. "I thought you – that is, Harry Potter – would be in that compartment … but when I glanced in, all I saw was a little kid about my age, in clothes even worse than my own, who looked at me and was _envious_." A half smile. "Awful of me, I know … that I recognized you as a friend in those first seconds simply because you were the only person I had ever met who really, desperately wanted something _I_ had."

He peered at the picture again. "I'm sorry we never took many pictures. Now … this is all I have to remember you by." A sudden, barked laugh. "Well, that and the newspaper clippings. I ought to be able to dig up that one of you and Lockhart _some_how." Harry shuddered, remembering that particular episode. Merlin, _that man_ … "And I suppose I could probably buy a couple hundred off Creevey … and here I thought the annoying brat would never have a use. There was a reluctant smile in his tone now."

"But truly, I don't know that you were ever that happy … there were happy times, yes, brief golden moments that seemed a lot less frequent than the bad times. But even then, the bad, whether past or looming in the future, had a certain tendency to overshadow the good. Heck, it even affected me, and we all know how dense I am … but I know it affected you most of all.

"I … I wish you hadn't felt like you had to get rid of Voldemort alone, at the expense of your life. I wish you had held your life in a bit higher regard than that. And I wish you had been as happy here as you were then." He folded in on himself, his next words coming out muffled. "Damn it, Harry … did you ever think that _we_ would miss you? Did you _ever_ stop and consider how large a hole you'd be leaving in the hearts of those of us who remain?"

_No … I didn't. I didn't realize …_ Harry had grown more and more pensive as Ron continued to speak. He still believed that a few people's grief was far better than the many innocent deaths that would have come if Voldemort had been allowed to survive. But … the decision, in retrospect, seemed no longer as clear cut as when he originally made it.

"Of course he didn't." A sharp voice cut in. "He's the epitome of Gryffindor – not to mention the fact that practically since he appeared in this world, everyone has been expecting him, and only him, to be the one to cause the Dark Lord's final defeat. What would you expect?"

If there was anyone Ron wanted least to witness him falling apart like this, it would be the person who just happened to be right in front of him, having pulled back the curtains – an extreme breach of conduct in and of itself – and who showed a disturbing tendency to be about to actually sit down on the bed. "Snape!"

"Yes. Me." The comment was made with a bit less cutting sarcasm than usual – but then, Ron wasn't really in a proper state to appreciate that. "He's still around. Sitting right across the bed from you at the moment, actually."

A strangled noise that probably should have been a laugh. "Are you trying to _comfort _me, Snape? Why the _hell_ should I … I just … go away."

"Five points from Gryffindor for language and disrespecting a professor." The adult snapped automatically. "Look, Mr. Weasley. I don't want to be here any more than you do. I'm just trying to help."

"You can take your help and _shove it_."

It was a small enough sigh to slip beneath the notice of the upset Gryffindor, but a sigh it still was. With a deliberately uncaring shrug, Snape stood, making eye contact – again to no effect – with Harry over his friend's head. "I tried." And he swept away.

And Harry, feeling more helpless than ever, continued his silent vigil over his broken friend.

# # # # #

Time passed; between his lengthy monologue and the following outburst at Snape, Ron seemed to have exhausted his facility (admittedly a small one, as Harry and Hermione had been known to joke) with words; he lapsed into a depressive silence.

At one point Hermione summoned up the courage – more likely spurred on by worry about how Ron was taking Harry's death – to barge into the boys' dorm area … she paused apprehensively for nearly a minute just outside Ron's curtained barrier but, heartened by the sliver of open space Snape's departure had left (and Ron had been too unmotivated to reclose), eventually peeked in.

That conversation was short and mostly one-sided. Hermione made an honest, valiant effort at comforting Ron; all she received was the blunt end of his tongue … in her state Harry was surprised that she wasn't lashing back just as painfully. It was what he would probably have done in her place – but then, Hermione had a far greater ability to pigeonhole things; she had probably shoved her own grief onto the back burner when faced with the problem of how to help Ron deal with his.

Even she failed, however, stalking off after bidding Ron a mostly cordial goodbye (with, tacked onto the end, the earnest wish that he pull his head out of his ass and realize he wasn't the only one grieving – preferably soon). Still pale, still silent, and yet to let the tears he was hiding fall, Ron quietly got up, digging through Harry's trunk again (he thought he should probably be offended … but it was somehow impossible). Shortly thereafter, he curled up halfway beneath the covers, Harry's first Weasley sweater clutched as tightly as any stuffed animal.

Ron was an inveterate snorer. Harry and his roommates had learned quickly that it was best for all of them if Ron went to sleep last – otherwise, he'd likely be the only one getting any. This night, however (at least, he expected it was probably night … there wasn't much light coming through the shades), he slept almost disturbingly silently.

And the moisture in his eyes that had lingered, just far enough back, up until this point, slowly pooled in the corners of each eye and dripped away.

# # # # #

Harry was finding, in 'ghost form', that he had no real need for sleep, much less sustenance – those simple human necessities were beyond him, now. Still, he found that he could drop into at least a light doze when he tried (though several times, just as he was about to fall asleep, he would jolt back awake because of the disturbing silence that filled the room – Ron not snoring made rather more of a difference than he had expected).

He probably shouldn't have tried … but even if he didn't need sleep anymore, he was human enough to feel tired, even though the physical basis for that particular condition no longer existed. So nap he did, and awoke to find Ron gone. Given that it was (possibly) morning, Harry was not terrible surprised nor worried – and even if it was still the middle of the night, there was no real cause for alarm; Ron had been known to sleepwalk.

The note on the pillow, however, was a somewhat more worrying development. Simple and direct, it consisted of only two sentences: _Gone to right a wrong. Don't follow._

A wrong, Harry had a sinking feeling, that had something to do with his death. He huffed a sigh. _Of course … things never turn out the easy way, now do they? Even my death was far more complicated than I expected …_

He knew he ought to find and inform an adult. It was the right – not to mention the intelligent – thing to do. But what could he say? It's not like they'd be able to do anything other than search without knowing where he'd gone, and without any clues … it would be like searching for a needle in a very large haystack. Especially if Ron had left Hogwarts. No, better to do some investigating himself first.

Flitting through the castle took some time, but not a whole lot; in the end he found himself reasonably certain that Ron had, in fact, left the building. This was … worrisome. Back in the dorm, he sat cross-legged on (a few inches above, to be perfectly honest, but close enough for government work) Ron's bed, in preparation for an experiment he planned on trying before going any further.

As he sat, he found himself closing his eyes, breathing deeply, and resting his hands on his knees, much like those inspirational meditation how-to videos Aunt Petunia would occasionally watch when none of her favorite soaps were on. Exactly why, he wasn't quite sure – probably for the favorable dramatic feel to the situation, if anything. As he sank into himself, he focused all his thoughts on Ron. Picturing him, remembering the way he talked, the way he moved, his little fidgety habits … all the things that made Ron, Ron.

And with a sudden outburst of emotion, a thunderous mental force that reminded him briefly of those moments when he was just so _angry_ that the power would reach out and act beyond his will, he shunted his thoughts to a shout (though no sound exited his mouth), a demand that would brook no defiance: _Take me _there_!_

With no physical body to displace air, no pop signified his departure. He simply – disappeared.

# # # # #

"I thought I would find you here, you little rat. After all, it would take imagination – not to mention _intelligence_ – to move away from the scene of the crime."

Eyes flicked around the small room – by a stroke of bad luck, he had been cornered in one of the smallest rooms in the large house overlooking the graveyard to which Ron had been transported. His wand had been efficiently confiscated, leaving him effectively powerless. (Not for the first time did he curse his Master for insisting on having Anti-Apparition wards set up around the entirety of the house. There was a small loophole for summoned Death Eaters to Apparate into and out of – but of course, that was halfway across the house, not to mention up a few flights of stairs, from here.) So, cornered, he fell back on one of the primary tenets of his philosophy of life: When in doubt, grovel.

"My former master!" He exclaimed with every evidence of pleasure. "It's been a while, hasn't it? Surely you'll show me the kindness due such an old friend …"

"The same kindness you showed Harry?" Ron hissed. "By actively aiding the return of You-Know-Who – oh yes, we know _all_ about that – and just _standing by _when he died?" He barked a harsh laugh. "_You_ are not worth the effort it would take to spit on you."

He twitched nervously. "But I was your faithful rat … you wouldn't kill me, would you? It's not what Harry would want …"

"Don't speak that name." Ron made a violent gesture, as if he wanted to strike the older man. Though he made no overt movement towards Wormtail, the man cringed backwards from the sheer force of the younger Gryffindor's hatred. "Don't you _ever_ speak that name. I'm not going to kill you, no, but don't you dare think it's because I feel any mercy or pity for you.

"I'm going to take you exactly where you should have gone a year ago. And this time, Professor Lupin isn't here to save you with an ill-timed transformation."

The twitching increased, as did the shifting of his eyes as the true import of his situation crashed down on Wormtail. He could see the determination that filled every line of Ron's body, the hatred that boiled, barely leashed, behind his clear eyes. Then he fell suddenly still as he saw something … _unbelievable_ appear behind and a bit to the right of Ron. "H-harry …?"

"What did I say?"

"But – Harry – he's –"

"Why, Peter?" Harry asked, as Wormtail's eyes continued to widen. "Why did you do it?" _Why couldn't you have remained the sweet Peter I'm actually happy to have known?_

"Sweet Harry … so much like your father … you'll show me mercy, won't you? You'll talk some sense into your friend, won't you, for me?"

The groveling reminded the ghost quite forcibly of his first encounter with the rat in human form, and any feelings towards this Wormtail that had carried over from his friendship with the younger Peter dissipated abruptly. _This man is not my friend. My friend no longer exists in this world, if he ever did._

"One small problem with that, _Wormtail_." The expression decorating Harry's face could be called a smirk, if one was disposed to judging such expressions extremely kindly. "You see … you can see me … but he can't. Or hear me. I'm afraid I couldn't help you even if I wanted to."

As Wormtail continued to stare fixedly at and converse nervously with something that wasn't there, Ron was torn between beginning to believe that maybe Snape hadn't been quite as full of shit as he had thought, and assuming that the rat had finally lost what few marbles had remained to his name. Still, either way, this little farce had gone on long enough. "_Petrificus Totalus."_

"And stay there." Harry said – rather unnecessarily, considering that there was now no one in the room capable of hearing him. Still, at least it made him feel better.

For a moment. Until, on his way down, Wormtail managed to make eye contact for one split second. Long enough, evidently.

_Well. This sucks._

And once again, the world swirled away.

19 June 2004  
9 September 2012


	16. Chapter 16

Hm. Not much to say, other than the usual – me not owning anything, etc. (It occurs to me that no one would be stupid enough to have gotten this far in the story without realizing that I don't own Harry Potter … but it's just my luck that, if anyone did, they'd also be stupid enough to decide to sue me over it.)

So, enjoy!

(11/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

# # # Chapter 16 # # #

_Dearest Mum,_

_You know how you've always wanted to know everything about your beloved baby girl's life? I suppose it's always seemed to you that I have been telling you everything … but I left something rather important out. I thought it was for your own good, you see. Thought you'd be safe, so there'd really be no use worrying you with it (I worry enough for both of us, believe me …)_

_That freak gas explosion on Charleston Path (you remember, the one that happened on Christmas Eve – it was in the papers the day after, and you said it was a really great shame that such an awful thing would happen at such a time of year) wasn't really. That is, it wasn't a gas explosion, and it wasn't an accident. _

_Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself. I suppose a better place to start would be this: there once was a little boy; I'm told his name was Tom Riddle …_

# # # # #

Two heads bent over a single book, one black and one a washed-out looking blond. "I … am still not entirely sure I understand it."

"It's simple. You just have to …"

Silence.

"You don't get it either, do you?"

Pinching of the nose; fingers that drifted towards the feather end of the quill before abruptly stilling, creating an odd tension in the air.

"I'll take that as a no." This time, the tone was somewhat more forced. "And you complain about _Gryffindor_ pride?"

A deliberate shrug. "A man must have _some_ sort of hobby."

_:So _that's_ why he does it!:_

Peter started violently, and Severus looked up, the spirit of banter falling away. He didn't ask the obvious question, but the surprise and beginnings of concern were bright in his eyes. "I … sorry …"

_:Harry?!:_

_:Peter.:_ A certain sense of warmth suffused his mind. _:It's so good to see you again. How long was I away this time?:_

A strange half-smile twisted onto Peter's face as his eyes drifted downwards towards the feather quill that still occasionally twitched. _:Too long.:_

His eyes crossed as he became abruptly aware of a hand waving in front of his face. "Hello? Peter?"

"Sorry, I got distracted." The sheepish look came naturally. "It's … just that …" The grin came even more naturally as he reached out and shook Severus. "He's back, Severus! He came back!"

A return smile dawned, all the brighter for its hesitance. "Tell him welcome back for me, will you?"

In answer, the warmth only grew brighter. _:It's _so_ good to be back.:_

Severus looked past him in a peculiar way that made Peter sure that he was talking to Harry instead. "I don't suppose you know how to do multistage inanimate to animate transfiguration?"

_:Is that any sort of question to ask a kid who hasn't even taken his OWLs yet?:_

"And here I thought you knew everything!"

_:Only on alternate Tuesdays.:_

# # # # #

"Let's prank Snape."

"No, Lestrange. He looked funny at us last week, remember?"

"OK, granted."

"What do you think, Moony?"

Remus forced an easy grin; the artifice came easily to him. "Granted as well. Besides, if we prank Lestrange right, we can probably catch Black in the mix as well."

Sirius brightened at that; if there was any Slytherin (other than Snape, for obvious reasons) that he felt particular ire for, it would be his _beloved _cousin Bella. That, as Remus had suspected, was enough to settle the argument, leading them into what exactly the prank would consist of. Satisfied that any further contributions on his part would probably not be needed, he slouched back into his chair.

The full moon had been only last night, and he was still feeling the effects. Light-headed, shaky – though he had gotten pretty good at suppressing the shakes – the restorative potions he kept lined up in his poor little room in the Shrieking Shack could do a lot to get him back on his feet, but they couldn't do everything, unfortunately.

But the hurt ran deeper than the bone-deep ache left from the forced transformation. Lurking in the back of his mind, he could still feel the wolf pacing restlessly. Restlessly the way he had paced last night, willingly confining himself within that room and refusing any of Prongs or Padfoot's attempts to convince him to roam outside. He had been waiting for … someone … something … he didn't know.

And that tension, the disappointment the wolf felt when, at last, no one appeared … it still remained with him, no matter how he tried to shake it, to write it off to just the wolf's latest quirk. All in all, he was in no condition to be doing much of anything. But that was another thing he had gotten used to pretending about.

The portrait opened, and his eyes tracked slowly to the person currently holding it open – Peter, oddly enough. It seemed like he was rarely ever around anymore … what had begun as the occasional consultation with Snape (_Snape!_) over particularly hard to understand parts of Transfiguration homework had gradually become regular, then a daily habit. Now, it was rare when he saw Peter in Gryffindor at all anymore, other than when he came back to the tower to sleep.

Glancing at the two oblivious black-haired Animagi, his face twisted briefly into a wry grin. He wasn't sure James or Sirius either one had realized yet just where Peter disappeared off to … to the extent they'd noticed at all, they seemed to be of the opinion that he had finally gotten himself a girlfriend. It was … comforting, in an odd way. Safe. He could hang out with them and it felt almost like old times; they'd hardly noticed as he withdrew further into his shell, so long as he smiled and laughed and offered the appropriate suggestions at the appropriate times, whereas Peter would have noticed for sure if he'd been around much at all anymore.

The blond's eyes slowly traced the room until they landed on – him. The other boy's bright smile widened into a grin, and he jerked his head toward the open doorway. It took only a brief struggle between Remus' disinclination to move and his insatiable curiosity before, with a fairly transparent excuse that the two nonetheless accepted, he levered himself out of the chair and made his way slowly over to the doorway.

# # # # #

"D'you think he'll ever tell us what's wrong?"

A snort. "This is Moony we're talking about. He doesn't just have a mind like a steel trap. He has a mouth like one, too. Besides … you know what it's probably about."

"Yeah. _Him_. I never wanted to see him again, but …"

"Yeah. We've got to do something … but what can we do?"

"Nothing. Nothing but be here and let him pretend there's nothing wrong until he's willing to admit that there is."

"Wow. That was deep."

"Are you trying to imply I'm ever anything but?"

"Would I do a thing like that?"

"… Do you really _want_ me to answer that question?"

# # # # #

Peter did, in fact, notice. So did Harry. _:What _happened_? I wasn't gone _that_ long, was I?:_ For certainly the deterioration in Remus seemed significant enough that it had likely happened over a large period of time.

He seemed just in general a bit thinner and … greyer. Despite the fact that his hair had yet to begin streaking grey with age, he still seemed to exude an aura that matched far better with the older werewolf who had taught him the Patronus Charm than the seventh-year student he had become more comfortable with over the past few … well, whatever. _:Well … you've hit him at a bad time … the full moon was only last night.:_

_:Still …:_

A narrow thread of guilt twisted through their joined minds. _:I … I'm afraid I haven't been keeping as good track of him as I should. I've been spending too much time with Severus … especially once Remus seemed to return to James and Sirius. I figured he was in good hands.:_ An uncomfortable-shrug-ish sort of sensation. _:I tried to invite him to join Severus and I … Severus wasn't all that thrilled with the idea, but he didn't say no outright, so …:_

For some reason, Harry found the mental image of Peter steamrolling Severus quite amusing. Translated to a completely incongruous image of Wormtail steamrolling Professor Snape in … well, _anything_ … it was flat hilarious. Peter, who had caught the edges of his thoughts, made the obligatory grumbles about it not being _that_ funny, but for the most part waited out Harry's giggles with patience.

_:If you don't mind …?:_

That almost set Harry off again, but he managed to retain his control by a thread. _:Oh, not at all. Go right on ahead.:_

_:Thank you.:_ Peter took the equivalent of a deep breath. _:It didn't really work, though. Severus, I think, is frightened of Moony on some level … and didn't really like him all that much to begin with. And Moony – well, I don't know what problem Moony has with Severus exactly, but he has one. He tries to hide it, of course, but … with neither of them liking each other, it was too much of a strain to try and keep things going. So …:_ Another metaphysical shrug. _:Severus … seemed to need me more than Moony did. Especially now that he's declared his allegiance to the light, he has _no_ friends, not even the sort he had before.:_

Their eyes crossed as a hand was abruptly thrust in front of their face and waved slightly. That hand, of course, was attached to a certain werewolf's arm, who might have been looking slightly impatient if he didn't look so tired and apathetic instead. "Was there something you wanted me for, Peter?" He hinted, once he was pretty sure he had regained the blond's attention. "You looked pensive. Is something wrong?"

"Oh! No." _:No … just the realization of how bad a friend I've been lately.:_ "No, I just wanted to tell you …" Now, how was the best way to put it. "Um … a mutual friend of ours has returned."

A joyous flame sparked in Remus' eyes, and for a moment he looked near his old self again. He had already turned towards the dungeons and taken several steps towards them before Peter hastily negated that idea. "… then who?"

"… Me."

Remus turned to face him – them – fully again and there was a moment of tense awkwardness no one was quite sure of the source of. "Welcome back." Remus said softly, as his smile grew near to matching Peter's former smile in size and brilliance. "Welcome back."

And for that frozen moment in time, Harry desperately wished, with all his heart, for nothing more than the ability to stand in front of Remus in his own body, with his own smile (that would surely be a match for the other two) and in his own voice tell Remus just how good it was to be back.

# # # # #

It had been a peaceful three days. Peter had gone to class, spent time with Severus doing homework and with Remus feeling awkward (though Remus would never say or even think such a thing, Peter knew it was Harry that Remus _really_ wanted to be spending time with, which made him feel obscurely guilty for the fact that neither he nor Harry had managed to figure out how to separate or even how to allow Harry temporary control of their shared body).

Harry, on the other hand, had sat back (in a metaphysical sort of way), relaxed, and made the occasional remark on the rare occasions that he knew something about the topic of conversation. He basked in the peace that had been so rare in his life – not a total peace, for the occasional worry about Ron and how he fared against Wormtail once Harry left, and about the rest of the people back in the world from which he had come, was never completely absent from his mind.

But he had lived with worry all his life; this was nothing. There was no expectation, here, that he would be needed to vanquish some evil that had paralyzed the entire wizarding world (or at least the British part of it) with fear. The evil still existed; Harry still expected he'd have some part in fighting it (and would have fought bitterly had anyone pointed out he was just a child and far too young to do so) … but not now, not yet. And when he did fight, it would be on his _own_ terms.

Not Voldemort's. Not Dumbledore's. _Especially_ not this Dumbledore.

His.

_:Thinking weighty thoughts?:_ Peter teased lightly.

_:Not anything of consequence.:_ Harry assured him. _:Hey … stop for a second.:_ Obediently, Peter stopped, standing as still as he could. And there is was again, the whisper Harry thought he had heard. A terribly familiar whisper. _And here we go again … of course my life couldn't stay uncomplicated for long._

_:What is it?:_ There was caution in Peter's tone. _:What do you hear?:_

_:Something … I had hoped never to hear again.:_ There was pain, and a great feeling of world-weariness in Harry's voice. _:Something I don't know if I even can do something about, the way I am.:_

_:If there's anything I can do …:_ Palpable hesitation. It wasn't just silence on Harry's part, Peter could feel, but a very real disinclination (one might even say fear, if Peter hadn't believed that fear was entirely contrary to Harry's basic disposition) to confide in him.

_:I … do you trust me?:_

_:That's a rather, erh, vague question … what sort of trust are we talking about here?:_

_:… it's possible that it could mean the difference between life and death for a fellow student – or possibly even you. On the other hand, I could be overreacting and it could be absolutely nothing.:_

_:Ah. That sort of trust.:_ A pause, then Peter said brightly, _:Now, if you were asking if I trusted you to back a sublime cherry pie, I would say no, considering I have no clue what sort of cook you make. But a matter of life and death? Psh. I'm your man.:_ Another pause, this consideringly. _:Body. You know, whatever.:_

A flare of gratitude. _:Thanks, Peter.:_ This pause seemed to indicate a gathering of thoughts. _:All right. I'm not sure whether or not this is even possible, but … okay. Go to the girls' restroom on the first floor. The out-of-order one.:_

_:In case you haven't noticed, I'm a guy, Harry. For that matter, we're _both_ guys.:_

_:Look, do you trust me or not? I need to be in that restroom.:_

_:… all right, you're the boss.:_

# # # # #

"So, now what?" Peter admitted, if only to himself, that he was speaking instead of merely thinking mostly just to hear himself talk. Perhaps not a wise decision, in an area where he would probably get in big trouble for even being … but it was a rather large space, and unwelcoming, and despite Harry's presence, he felt very alone.

_:Go over to the sinks. You'll know which one you're searching for – it has a small snake carved on the tap.:_

Unable to keep himself from tiptoeing, Peter made his way over to the sinks, carefully searching each one. At the same moment Harry interrupted his search to say _:This one,:_ Peter found the carving the spirit had spoken of. Unconsciously repeating himself as he bent down to more closely inspect the tiny diagram, Peter asked, "Now what?"

_:Now, we find out if this works. Repeat after me.:_ Harry then began … hissing, a long string of liquid syllables.

_He's a _Parselmouth_!_ Peter froze for a horrified instant, his mind flashing through everything he'd ever heard about that hated and feared ability.

Which, as he regained his equilibrium, he admitted really wasn't much. Just that it was something associated Dark Wizards and Slytherins. _This is why Harry was so worried. _He realized._ He was afraid that I would react … _exactly_ the way I just reacted. Quit this, Pettigrew, and do what he said. Harry is Harry, he won't steer you wrong._

_:Um … could you repeat that, please? I'm not sure I quite …:_

Astonishing warmth suffused him; so great that Peter found himself blushing slightly – at least, he could feel the heat in his cheeks, though the familiar cheeks in the mirror showed no signs of pink. _:… thank you …:_ he thought he heard Harry whisper, before obligingly repeating the string of syllables.

Peter tried his best. Truly he did. Unfortunately, instead of falling trippingly off his tongue, that string of – he supposed it must have been Parseltongue – simply tripped. Harry snickered. _:What?:_

The snicker abruptly cut itself off, and there was a flush of embarrassment. _:Sorry … I really shouldn't … it's just …:_ He snickered again. _:What you said was, near as I can translate, was 'sasquatch'. What I said was 'open'.:_

_:What, not even 'open sesame'? How very banal.:_

_:Yeah, well … Salazar Slytherin probably wasn't the most inventive guy on the planet. I know his decor certainly needs work …:_

Peter was thrown. Again. _:Wait a second. Slytherin … this …:_

_:Is the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, yes. I stumbled upon it in my second year.:_

_:And what you're looking for – some sort of whispers …?:_

_:From the legendary monster Slytherin hid away in his secret chamber, a basilisk.:_

_:A _basilisk_?!:_

_:I just need to check on it. Make sure it hasn't gotten loose again.:_

Peter nodded once, then tried the series of syllables once more.

_:Well … um … that was closer?:_ Harry offered hopefully. _:You said 'door' this time …:_

"What kind of language has the exact same pronunciation for _door_ and _sasquatch_?! I don't even know what a sasquatch _is_!"

"I don't know. What kind of language? You tell me." Peter whirled to find Severus leaning, oh-so-elegantly, against one of the side walls. He pushed away and paced forward. "You know, Harry, we really need to stop meeting like this. Are you going to tell me what's really going on this time?"

_:Can I?:_

He felt Harry sigh. _:Eh … he already knows so much about me, why not this too? Go ahead … I won't make you keep this a secret from him. Not that he'd likely believe anything _but_ the truth, after finding us in this position:_

_:Thanks …:_

Peter looked at Severus. "I don't know the entire story either, but …" he pointed at the tap. "_That_ is evidently the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. And we're going down there to make sure the basilisk hasn't gotten loose to terrorize the school." The traitorous flush reared its head again. "If I can figure out how to open the thing in the first place."

Severus blinked. "Wait. I thought – Harry, you said that the only one left who could open the Chamber was Voldemort."

_:Hey, yeah … I remember that too …:_

_:Er … so I may have … fudged the truth slightly …:_

"That language you were attempting to speak … was that Parseltongue?" At Peter's hesitant nod, Severus nodded more firmly, satisfied. "I withdraw my previous question. If _I_ were a parselmouth, _I_ wouldn't want Dumbledore to know either." A twisted expression. "Especially considering how he already feels about you."

"Point taken." Peter nodded. "I have the utmost respect for the Headmaster … but he does seem to jump to all the wrong conclusions about Harry, doesn't he?"

It was a rhetorical question, and happily Severus decided to treat it as such. "So … is this whole 'attempting to speak Parseltongue' thing a private party, or can I join in?"

Peter laughed. "You can't possibly do any worse than I'm doing now. Okay, so here's what we're trying to say … ish." He hissed a long string of meaningless syllables, then flinched. "Well, actually, that apparently means 'sponge' … but …"

Severus, after fixing the sequence firmly in his mind, cleared his throat self-consciously and spoke.

"Sorry. Harry says that means '42.'"

Again.

"Um … 'rabid dog'?" Feeling it was unfair to be doing all the criticizing, Peter took another whack at it. "'What.'"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Blank stare.

Blink. "What did that mean?"

"What."

"Yes, you said that already … but what's the translation?"

Peter snorted. "Now we sound like some sort of two bit comedy team … I _meant_ that the translation of what I said just now _was_ 'what'."

Severus rolled his eyes – at himself, Peter, or possibly Harry; he wasn't quite sure which – sighed, and went back to trying.

Five minutes later …

"My throat's getting sore …" Peter complained, rubbing at the aforementioned body part. "I think I'm taking a break."

Severus nodded agreement, but then turned back to the tap, unable to resist making one last attempt.

_:That's it!:_ Harry proclaimed, simultaneous with Severus' yelp as he stumbled backwards – though that was almost completely drowned out by the groaning of the sink as that entire area somehow … _morphed_, components sliding out of the way, into other areas or into temporary nonexistence, to accommodate a sudden large hole.

_:We have to jump down _there_?:_

_:Oh, lighten up. My best friends and I did this when we were twelve. Surely a big, mature seventeen-year-old like yourself –:_

_:I turned eighteen in January.:_

_:– _Eighteen_-year-old like yourself, then – can manage an itty-bitty jump like this one?:_

_:How are we going to get back out?:_

_:Levitate each other?:_ He could feel Harry shrug. _This is such a bad idea … and I'm not saying that because it's the Chamber of Secrets or because we're planning on confronting a basilisk. Well … not completely at least. We don't have anything even _remotely_ resembling a plan …_

While Peter occupied himself with privately predicting doom on the entire expedition, Severus peered down into the hole. Even when he lit his wand, he couldn't see the bottom – and could only dimly see a turn in the pipe. He couldn't believe this … he was getting a chance to see the secret chamber built by Slytherin _himself_ … the _ultimate_ Slytherin. Words failed him. It was just too …

_Wicked_ …

# # # # #

"This is not a good idea."

"You said that already."

"But I mean it. This is really _not_ a good idea."

"You said that already, too."

"I mean, look at us. Two seventh-years – have you even turned eighteen yet? No, don't answer that, it's beside the point – are going down into the legendary Chamber of Secrets to confront an ancient monster that's been living down here all this time – and just happens to be a basilisk? That has the power to _kill us_ just by _looking_ at us?! This is so beyond not a good idea that there are no words to properly describe its badness!"

Severus halted, which, since Peter was pacing a bit behind the Slytherin, had the effect of stopping them both. "I know. I really do. But it's the Chamber of Secrets! You don't know how many Slytherins have _dreamed_ of getting a chance like this! Besides …" he raised an eyebrow. "You've been doing this at Harry's request all along. Even if I wanted to turn back … would you? Really?"

A long, hesitant moment, before the blond pulled himself back together. Severus was amazed at the difference it made, how much more solid Peter seemed. Yes, _this_ was the Gryffindor misfit he had come to know and – yeah. Know. His study partner nodded acknowledgement, a vaguely rueful grin on his face. "No, I guess wouldn't."

This time, when they started forward, Peter took the lead.

# # # # #

Another doorway blocked their path. "Let me guess." Severus said dryly. "The password to this one is also 'open'."

_:Got it in one.:_ Harry, who had been for the most part quietly buried in memories he showed a distinct disinclination to share, chirped.

Severus, upon receiving that intelligence, simply sighed and began – again – the process of essentially trying to guess how to say 'open' in Parseltongue (given that just about every combination either had tried sounded essentially the same to their untrained ears).

After 'life', 'universe', 'everything', 'forty-two' (or what would translate roughly to that, considering that snakes didn't generally have the greatest grasp on the concept of numbers in the world), and something that Harry was willing to place a large bet on having no human equivalent whatsoever, it was Peter, this time, who finally hit upon the correct intonation.

"This is so cool." Severus whispered as they watched the metallic serpents unlock themselves to open the way forward. "Just … wow. The others would _never_ believe me if I told them about this."

_:Did I just hear Severus Snape say the word 'cool'?:_ Harry asked weakly. _:It was just a hallucination, right?:_

_:Hey, give thanks for small blessings.:_ Peter pointed out, rather surprised at the choice of wording himself. _:At least he didn't say 'groovy'.:_

As they continued farther into the final set of tunnels, Peter and Severus seemed to have become infected with Harry's pensive silence; none of the three spoke, except once about halfway along where Harry observed _:The main chamber is coming up soon:_ and Peter passed the message along.

It was really quite a long tunnel, and despite the frequent jokes made by the rest of the school about the resemblance between the Slytherin living quarters and dank, unlivable dungeons, the constant darkness (not complete – there was just enough ambient light to see by, from some unknown source) combined with the dampness of the area and the rather consistent dripping in the background wore even on Severus' nerves.

Thus, both were rather relieved (in a keyed up sort of way) when they noticed the gradual lightening of the area and evidence that, up ahead, the tunnel seemed to be broadening into a larger chamber. _:That's it.:_ Harry confirmed quietly.

"Be on guard." Severus spoke, in a tone so low that even Peter hardly heard it; the Gryffindor nodded sharply in reply.

Then, just as they reached the end of the tunnel and were beginning to look around in awe at the immense chamber the tunnel had led out into (even Harry, who had seen the area twenty years later and in a considerably worse state of mind, was relatively impressed), a rustling caught both (well, all three really …) of their attentions.

_Something comes!_ Wands appeared in hand – Harry rather touched that Severus came up with two; his own in his right (and presumably dominant) hand and Harry's in his left.

It appeared. _::__Intruderss!::_ Out of the corners of their eyes (in the hopes that they might die by being impaled instead of simply killed by the look in its eyes), Peter and Severus saw the enormous green length with its scales nearly as big as a human fist rearing backwards. As one, they jumped away, Severus wondering if Peter's mind was as entirely blank of any useful spell against such a monster as this as his was.

But then he looked left, where the blond had sprawled after tripping in his jump out of the way, and saw that his friend was no longer there … in Peter's place, another very familiar visage had appeared. The raven-haired apparition stood, brushing off his clothes (a bit big now, considering that Peter was both taller and broader than the fourth-year spirit), and fearlessly spoke.

Hissed, rather. Under Severus' awed eyes, the language that had tripped from his and Peter's tongues in fits and starts – fits that included fits of laughter, at least on Harry's part, at the translation of their latest attempts – simply _flowed_ from Harry's, like the language it was supposed to be. _This_ was the way Parseltongue was meant to be spoken, and under that flow of words the giant snake – basilisk – visibly calmed.

_Wow. Just … wow._

# # # # #

Harry was reasonably certain (though the still-frantic Peter now stuck in _his_ head was not quite so sanguine about the whole situation) that he had calmed the basilisk enough to where it would no longer be likely to lash out at either him or Severus – who he had explained quite strongly was a friend.

Now all that remained … _::__Why is it that you are wandering around the pipes, Ssylria?::_ That was her name, as he had learned in the early stages of their conversation.

_::I'm hungry.::_ She explained, on the edge of a whine. _::__And lonely and I want my mother … sshe would bring me food. Thiss placsse – thesse pipess' you sspeak of – they hint at the mosst delightful of sscentss, but I have not been able to find anything. And I am really sso very hungry …::_

_::Why are you not with your mother now?::_ Harry found himself contemplating uncomfortably the basilisk he had killed without even really trying to find another way. Had it been Ssylria he killed? Or perhaps her mother, leaving her (and any siblings) alone and unable to properly fend for themselves? Either way, he found himself re-examining his options at the time, trying vainly to discover if there had been another way.

_::Thiss human came along, a bit sshorter than you, and sspoke to Mother and Ssyruss and me … he told uss that he was the only one who could undersstand uss and that he would bring 'glory' to uss (which he confirmed was a particularly delicious delicassy) if we followed him.::_ She sighed, an enormous gust of air that pushed Harry backwards several feet. _::__But I have not tassted any of thiss 'glory' … nothing but thesse cold, dark tunnelss and a great deal of lonelinesss. I wissh to go home …::_

Guilt still plaguing him, Harry nodded. _::__If it is within my power, I will find a way to bring you home.::_

The basilisk on one side and Severus (after the requisite summary of the conversation that had transpired) on his other, Harry set out to explore the Chamber that had been the setting of a pivotal event in his life two years ago and sixteen from now. Strangely, he found himself looking back – and here was where the basilisk threw me hard enough that I wondered if I would ever get back up again – with something oddly reminiscent of nostalgia.

Eventually they made their way to the giant bust – supposedly of Salazar Slytherin, which he made the mistake of noting; that sent Severus once again into his raptures about how '_utterly wicked!_' the Chamber was (which still didn't fail to be vaguely disturbing to watch). and distracted Peter into making pithy remarks involving Slytherin's mother that, on the whole, Harry was pretty glad Severus couldn't hear. Meanwhile, he and the basilisk attempted to figure out how to return her to where she belonged.

He thought he remembered, in second year, the statue's mouth opening to let the basilisk out; in addition, Ssylria was fairly certain that this was the place. Now all they needed was to find out how it worked. All the typical solutions were tried first: Harry and Ssylria both tried the oft-used _open_, Severus had even been brought in to make his attempts, although all those resulted in were paroxysms of laughter on the part of Harry and a kind of bemused curiosity from Sslyria, who simply couldn't quite understand how anyone could mangle her language _that _badly.

Finally, in frustration, Harry kicked Slytherin's long, flowing beard. _::__Lissten up, you sstupid unmoving hunk of sstone! Sslyria is alone out here, sshe hassn't eaten _anything_ ssince _Merlin_ knowss when, sso sshe'ss undersstandably rather hungry, and sshe's lonely ssince I'm one of maybe _two_ people on the entire planet who can actually _undersstand_ her and I'm s_sorry_ but I'm _not_ going to sspend the rest of my life – or death, or what_ever_ – holed up in thiss Godforssaken Chamber of yourss! Sso _open up_ already and let thiss poor young child go –::_ He stopped suddenly. The next word … _::__– home …?::_ he finished hopefully.

The mouth opened, slowly and grindingly just exactly the way he remembered it and Ssylria made a rather intimidating noise that Harry could find no translation for other than a wordless, joyous squeal – like the sort one hears from the archetypical teenaged girl. _::__Thank you, Harry! I will always remember this, and if you ever have need of me, you need only call.::_

That giant tongue flicked out and touched his face, a brief whisper of a touch that was surprisingly light, considering that the tongue itself was nearly as large as Harry's head. _::__I owe you a debt I hope I can repay someday.::_

And then she was gone, and Harry was left wondering why he felt almost as if he had lost another friend. Then there was the arm flung around his shoulder – a rather un-Severus-like thing for the Slytherin to do, but perhaps he was still unhinged by the experience. "Come on, Harry." He said softly. "I think it's about time for us to leave."

"… Yeah." He could hear himself saying, as through a tunnel. "Yeah, I guess it is." The tunnel continued to lengthen and he found himself greying out.

Peter slung his arm over Severus' other shoulder. "You know, I think Ssylria had a good idea."

"What idea was that?"

"Home, Severus. Let's go home."

3 August 2004  
10 September 2012


	17. Chapter 17

College has been stealing my lunch and eating it.

It's becoming less and less likely that I'll have even a hope of keeping to my 'once a month' quote (… not that I did terribly well to begin with …). So just … please be patient with me, and know that I haven't given up, that this story _will_ be updated.

Eventually.

On a somewhat happier note, I feel I must acknowledge the fact that this story has now officially topped 1000 reviews … there are not words enough for me to express my awe that this story has received such a great response, and my gratitude to all of you who reviewed and contributed to this fantastic achievement … and to those of you who never quite got around to reviewing, but read and enjoyed this story nonetheless.

Thank you all.

Harry Potter doesn't belong to me … I've written that so many times by now that I could type it with my eyes closed – and I'm sure you've all seen it so many times that you could read it with your eyes closed, too.

Now, my typical apologies, the happy news, and the ever-necessary disclaimer out of the way, I shall stop talking and allow you to move on to the real reason you're here.

(11/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

# # # Chapter 17 # # #

"Maybe we switch when I trip?" Peter theorized.

"One way to find out," Severus shrugged, a playful smirk on his face as he shoved the rat Animagus – hard.

Several flustered moments later, nursing a few more bruises than before (his previous jumps and the path down the pipe had not precisely left him unscathed, either), Peter clambered back to his feet. "What was _that_ for?!" He accused, trying not to show his hurt.

"Just seeing if it would make Harry come out." Severus replied, deliberately nonchalant. As the silence stretched, and Peter kept looking at him, though, he broke. "Look … hey, I'm … He looked down at his feet and muttered "… sorry."

Shock was Peter's first response, while Severus was wasting a wonderful glare on his rather grubby shoes. He had _never_ heard Severus sincerely apologize before. To _anyone_, much less _him_! And a quick check with the voice in his head proved that Harry had heard such an odd thing _:only once … that time when we broke with each other pretty harshly.:_ Recalling his own memories of how hard he'd had to kick the Slytherin to get him moving, Peter tactfully didn't ask more. "Don't worry, it didn't really hurt, and it _did_ give us some valuable new information …"

"Still a lousy thing for me to have done without warning you." Severus told his shoes. "I didn't mean …"

_He was trying to be _playful_, and I shot him down._ Peter realized. _Wow, now _I _feel like crap._ Well, there was only one way to fix that. While the Slytherin continued to conveniently pay the majority of his attention to his shoes, Peter innocently meandered behind Severus and shoved _him_ so hard that he abruptly lost balance and fell sprawling on the ground.

Being the nice person he was, of course, his next step was to move forward and offer Severus a hand up. Meanwhile, his friend was trying in vain to catch his breath, staring up at him in utter shock. "What …?!"

An innocent smile. "I just figured it would make you feel better if I evened the score a bit."

"For being witness to the ruination of a Slytherin's dignity, prepare to die." Severus deadpanned, as he reached up to grasp Peter's hand. "I'll show you _even_!" And with that, he gave a sharp yank that tumbled Peter halfway across the hallway. Now, having grown up around rowdy older (and younger, for that matter) siblings, the Gryffindor knew _exactly_ the sort of challenge that was expressing – and the proper response.

With a childish whoop, he dove back towards his black-haired friend.

# # # # #

The tiny snake hissed. Remus hissed back. "… I hope that meant 'shut up'." He muttered. Remus did not like snakes at all – and he liked them even less when they were hissing at him. Or – he shuddered at even the thought of the feather-light touch of the reptile's tongue – _tasting_ him.

Said mildly phobic werewolf was currently carrying said snake down to the Potions dungeon – he had been so hapless as to have been wandering in just the wrong area outside to be 'volunteered' by the gamekeeper, Hagrid, to take 'the little beauty' inside and consult Professor Yamada as to whether it had any interesting or particularly useful properties.

This would perhaps explain why, normally rather lenient as far as his prefect duties were concerned (he had a long tradition of ignoring most of them where his friends were concerned … and was not generally so hypocritical as to turn around and try to enforce them strictly on everyone else), when he heard the sounds of a scuffle significantly further down a side hall, he took the opportunity to think of something _other_ than the creepy reptile in the box in his hands, and rushed in that direction.

As he came closer, the noises that had originally attracted his attention became somewhat more distinguishable. A variety of thumps – emphatic enough of ones that they made him rather sympathetic towards whoever was on the receiving end. Hogwarts' cold stone floors were _not_ the nicest surface to land on by any stretch of the imagination. The occasional softer sound that might have been a grunt or a low-pitched yell.

Needless to say, when he skidded around the final corner, he was _not_ expecting to see his friend Peter straddling the back of a prone Snape, pinning both of the Slytherin's arms to the floor. (A small part of him was rather uncharitably surprised that Wormtail was managing to hold down someone who was significantly taller, almost certainly in better shape, and without a doubt sneakier than he was.)

The blond was grinning in a way that even Remus had to admit was pretty obnoxious. "Now let's all repeat after me. 'Severus Snape is a weak pansy'" – a pause as the 'weak pansy' in question made an attempt to escape that was effectively handled by a knee in the ribs. – "'who fights like a girl'." He finished off urbanely.

The Slytherin was rather out of breath – Remus didn't even need to hear the pants (which of course he could, being a werewolf with their improved senses and all) to know that. "How in the world did you get so good at wrestling?"

"You forget." Peter grinned proudly, relaxing slightly. "I have a couple of brothers. And even my sister has been known to get a good hit in – usually when we dense males least expect it. I've had plenty of – _oof_!"

Said exclamation came from the remaining breath – and words – being knocked out of him as Severus, seeing the opportunity inherent in his brief relaxation, suddenly thrashed upwards; succeeding in toppling the braided Gryffindor off balance with an end result that was essentially almost a complete swap from their previous positions. "Now who's the weak pansy?" Severus hissed. "You forget. _I_ am Slytherin."

Remus, growing slightly tired of being ignored, stepped forward. "And you both seem to forget," he noted dryly, "that there is no fighting allowed in the halls."

The two guilty parties – in what was perhaps the most surprising part of the entire confusing incident – shared a long look, sighed, and muttered (_almost_ in unison) "Spoilsport."

A stuttering hiss caught his preternaturally sharp ears and he took his eyes off the oddball pair just long enough to throw an annoyed glance in the perforated box's direction. "Oh, please. Not you too."

Another hiss caught his attention. Looking back up, the first thing he saw was the bright green eyes. It had been so long, it seemed … and yet when he saw those eyes again, it felt like just yesterday; as if they had never parted.

_As if I was so busy mooning over a pair of eyes I had completely forgotten other things … like my brain?_ He sniped at himself in the back of his head, forcibly refocusing on the subject at hand. Except wait. There was no subject. He supposed he ought to rectify that situation.

"So you do it too?" Popped out of his mouth, before any of the other things clamoring to be said could manage to gain a foothold. Probably just as well, considering a healthy percentage of them contained the gushy sort of sentiment that would likely send Snape into insulin shock and embarrass both himself and Harry for life. And the rest were questions that a) really could wait and b) would probably just be an exercise in futility considering he really doubted that Harry had any better of an idea as to why he suddenly gained control of the body that he shared with Peter than Remus did.

"Ah … do what?" Harry blinked, looking away.

"Oh. Sorry. Hiss at snakes and pretend they can actually understand you?" He grinned in a way that was supposed to evoke shared experiences. "And hope you haven't just insulted their ancestry and made crass suggestions about their mother?"

_That_ startled a laugh out of the spirit. "I – yes, I suppose I have." The laughter left a small smile on his face – yet the wolf, for a moment, thought he smelled – guilt. And the momentary expression on Snape's face, a curious twisted collage of triumphant 'I know something you don't' overlaid with a healthy dose of puzzlement and … disappointment? – before that gave way, as Snape expressions always do, to the sort of uniquely Slytherin neutrality that shaded naturally into a mild sneer.

Remus became aware that he had been standing there, staring at Harry, for far longer than he had any right to, and abruptly flushed. "I … probably I ought to go on and get the snake down … take the box over to Professor Yamada …"

"Snake …" Snape tested the word as if it were unfamiliar to him. "Harry, do you think …?"

The spirit's eyes widened. "Huh. That … would make sense. Not in a cosmic-meaning-of-what-brought-me-here-and-why sort of way, I'm totally lost on that still, but from a purely practical point of view …"

"What, there's a cosmic reason you're here?" Snape needled him.

"As I just _said_, I don't –"

"– other than to destroy my life by inducing me to indulge in all sorts of unhealthily un-Slytherin thoughts and actions?" Said Slytherin continued blithely, ignoring Harry's half-hearted attempt at actually giving his original question an honest answer.

Harry took a slow swing at the other student that Snape easily ducked, then grinned impishly. "Good for you, to shake you up a bit every now and then."

Remus chuckled. "What, Severus Snape ever act in a manner that is not in the utmost of Slytherin-ness? Say it ain't so!" He deadpanned.

The dark-haired Slytherin glared. "You can just shut up. You know nothing, w– you wuss."

This time Harry's punch came hard and fast. Still not terribly powerful – Severus would be highly surprised if his shoulder bruised at all – but leaving no doubts as to Harry's seriousness. "No name-calling." He said firmly … the flicker of disappointment proving to Severus that Harry knew exactly what he had been on the verge of calling Lupin instead – and decidedly did _not_ approve.

Severus grunted. He had been out of line … but damned if he was going to admit it. He did have some _few_ shreds of pride left.

Although, knowing Harry, probably not for long …

# # # # #

By a consensus that never quite made it to the point of being vocalized, the small group of erstwhile revolutionaries continued meeting where their meetings had originally begun – in the library.

Over the past few days, they had grown in size – slowly, perhaps, but grown nonetheless. The three Hogwarts students had brought in a few friends of theirs each – Elle acting as their primary connection to the Muggleborn crowd, Veronica contacting in a few purebloods she thought would be sympathetic to their cause, and Edwin covering the people in between who, for whatever reason, the three of them had decided were trustworthy.

Said that way, it sounded like a lot of people … the truth was that most of the people mentioned had only been subtly felt out on the matter (yes, Hufflepuffs could find it in themselves to be subtle when they really felt the need – this group was even beginning to learn the value of sneakiness); the number of people actually making up the group had only grown from the original four to seven.

The majority of the meeting had passed by, and the seven of them had fallen into a comfortable rut, idly batting around a few of the more prevalent ideas but no longer making all that much of an effort to come up with new ones.

"I bet I could get my brother Mark to help you with that one." A new voice interrupted, sparking panicked attention from each and every member.

The girl in question, young-looking with a medium build and dirty blonde hair tucked into two haphazard pigtails, grinned – showing off a hole on the left side of her mouth where she had evidently recently lost a tooth. "I've come to join you, by the way."

"I thought we were keeping this to the upper years for now." Petunia hissed to Edwin – he who she assumed was the perpetrator, since the girl seemed free of the slightly defensive attitude of most of the Muggleborns she had encountered, but didn't really fit her mental picture of a pureblood – while trying in the mean time to keep a not-wholly-insincere smile on her face for their current audience. "Isn't she a bit young?"

Edwin gave a helpless shrug, wordlessly disclaiming any responsibility for the series of events that had brought this young person to their table in the library. _At least,_ Petunia thought, eyeing the black and gold badge on the girl's by-now-familiar Hogwarts student robes, _she's a Hufflepuff too_.

"Hello, still here?" The girl in question sniped. "I'll have you know I'm fourteen!"

"I'm eighteen. And that has any bearing on this conversation … how?" Petunia drawled, feeling obscurely challenged.

The third year looked frustrated. Specifically, she looked like she was attempting to decide between stomping her foot and kicking Petunia with it. Personally, the Muggle preferred her not deciding on the latter option – whatever age she was, that girl looked like she had a mean kick. "Look, just the fact that I found out about what you are doing has _got_ to be an indication that your idea of security needs a total revamp. The only reason this thing isn't common news all over the school already is because we're Hufflepuffs." She looked torn between house pride and an understandable dose of bitterness. "No one ever expects great things – or much of anything of note – from the house that sounds like some obscure breed of marshmallow."

"She's right, you know." Ronnie reluctantly admitted from the corner of the table where, in between paying attention to the more interesting parts of the meeting, she had been attempting to get some revising done. As if feeling that making that comment somehow obligated her to pay more visible attention to the conversation at hand, she clawed her way out of the obscenely comfortable chair (all of them were, a fact which Petunia really appreciated) and approached. "I'm Veronica, by the way. I don't recall …?"

"Oh! Sarah." The girl flushed slightly, and clarified, "My name's Sarah. It's nice to meet you, Veronica."

"Call me Ronnie." The older girl requested, before turning her attention to her friends. "She _does_ have a point. I say let her in." A smooth shrug. "She seems old enough to wipe away her own drool, so to speak … and what little she's said seems to have been at least as coherent as the rest of us. Are there any other qualifications to join this group that I was unaware of?"

"Not the logic! Anything but that!" Elle whimpered dramatically, trying to use Edwin to shield her from Ronnie. Of course, said seventh-year didn't make a very good shield, seeing as he was practically convulsing with the effort of holding in his laughter at the theatrical scene being enacted.

Petunia just sighed, forced herself to lower her hackles, and turned back to the shorter blonde. "What the hey … not like you're any less mature than the rest of this group of nutcases, apparently … sounds like you're in, squirt."

Initially on the verge of glowing in mixed triumph and pride, the third-year abruptly deflated, pinning Petunia with a master-class glare as she again looked to be on the verge of stomping her foot. "The name's _Sarah_."

"Whatever you say, squirt."

# # # # #

It was a lovely day for a stroll with someone you love. Well, in James' opinion, any day was a lovely day to go strolling with Lily – with the possible exception of those days when he had been doing something she heartily disapproved of and she actually caught him at it and hadn't quite gotten over her anger and forgiven him for yet. And really, it was probably rather a chilly day outside, and for all he knew Hogwarts could be stuck in the middle of a freak early spring snowstorm. Or a downpour. So really, he had no basis for calling it a lovely day at all, given that he had no idea what sort of day it was (though he seemed to remember the sun shining in his window when he woke up, which tended to indicate that the day had at least started out lovely).

Well, whatever. The facts of the matter were that James was strolling down the halls of Hogwarts, his lady love at his side, that he was happy because of said situation, and that he really couldn't care less what the weather was like outside.

"James … are you even listening to me at all?" Lily asked irritably, although if one listened closely they could catch the hint of amusement in her voice.

"Of – of course!" He assured her hastily. "When have I ever paid any but the utmost of –"

And now she was laughing. "James, I just told you that I was expecting twin children by Professor Flitwick and had plans to call them Harry and Severus. And you smiled and said 'That's very interesting'."

"Okay, first – ew! And second …" He paused briefly. "Actually, I take that back. There is no second. Just – _ewww_! That mental image is just so wrong, there are no words to express the depths of its wrongness!"

"Professor Flitwick and I?" She asked innocently, although she didn't try hard enough to mask the mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Or the thought of me naming my children Harry and Severus?"

"Stop, I'm begging you!" In full dramatic flow, James fell to his knees in front of her. "Please, no more!"

"Idiot." She said fondly, cuffing him lightly on the shoulder. "Well, that's what you get for ignoring me when I'm talking."

James had just opened his mouth to reply – quite indignantly, of course – when he was preempted by the sound of voices drifting from around the corner. One about medium in pitch, the other rather higher – much like that of a boy whose voice hadn't broken yet. The lower-pitched voice was immediately familiar, the higher one less so – still familiar, but he couldn't quite place where.

_Remus_. Yet, far happier than he had heard the werewolf sound in … quite some time. A quiet, unaffected, pure happiness; entirely unlike the masks he put on these days to deflect others' worries – masks that, while good, never quite managed to eliminate that hint of falseness; the too-good-to-be-real tinge that sneaked in around the edges. And it was that tone to Remus' voice that led James to the logical conclusion and, simultaneously, remembering where he had heard that other voice before. _Harry_.

With that realization came action. Even before he caught the flash of black around the corner that heralded the imminent arrival of the two, he swept down a side corridor and into a darkened and empty classroom, tugging a rather bewildered Lily along with.

"You know," Lily said, "I like snogging quite as much as the next red-blooded female, but … is just now really the time?"

James immediately decided that, whatever his original plans, that was a capital idea. "Ah, but now is the _best_ time. All alone … together …" He attempted to waggle his eyebrows lasciviously.

Yet another cuff to the shoulder – he was sure he'd be bruised all over soon! – as the redhead tried to swallow her laughter. "Seriously, James … what happened?"

"Oh …" he shuffled slightly, deliberately looking anywhere but his girlfriend. "… just … thought I saw some people headed this way that I didn't particularly feel like dealing with …"

Her arms were crossed. That was Not a Good Sign. "James Bertrand Potter," And using his despised middle name. Also Not Good, "if you think for one moment that I believe that there is anyone in this school you would be that eager to get away from …"

Alright, time for Plan B. He hit her with one of the most plaintive looks he could summon – and considering he was best friends with Sirius Black, who had practically written the definition of sad puppy-dog eyes even before his Animagus form was discovered, that was pretty potent. Unfortunately, he had forgotten to factor in the fact that Lily Evans had been enduring said look from both of them for almost as long as Sirius and himself had been perfecting it; she had pretty formidable defenses against it by now. And she wasn't moved.

However, she _was_ mov_ing_. She turned toward the door and said, speculatively, "You know, I don't know why I'm even bothering, when it's just as easy – no, make that easier – to just walk out and see for myself."

He grabbed for her arm; she danced away. "Please don't, Lily."

"Then give me a reason not to, James." As if talking to a small child.

He deflated. "It – well, I'm almost entirely sure that it was Remus." His breath huffed out. "And Harry."

"Harry? As in … _that_ Harry?" Lily blurted.

"Yes, _that_ Harry." James could not help sounding just a bit mocking – a side effect of how on-edge the situation had made him, he supposed.

"And you're not off finding Professor Dumbledore and _telling _him about this?"

"No. I'm not." His mouth twisted, as he idly kicked the leg of a nearby table, striking it in vaguely rhythmic sort of way.

"Why?!" The question escaped her mouth before she could think of some way to put it a bit more politely. "I mean, you hate him, right? Why are you protecting him?"

James slouched further. "I – it's complicated." He ran his fingers through his hair, for once not in order to further his image, but just because it was a comforting gesture. "Before Christmas … I did something really _fucking_ stupid. And thoughtless. Can't forget thoughtless. And, well … it hurt Remus. A lot. And it's no thanks to me that the hurt wasn't as bad as it could have been."

He could still hear that snarl sometimes, when he tried – _Next time you want someone torn to pieces, why don't you do it _yourself.

It had hurt then. Now – with what he _hoped_ was a good dose of extra maturity under his belt – it hurt even worse.

"But he's forgiven you, hasn't he?" His beautiful Lily, eyes narrowed slightly in thought. "I mean, yeah, there was that break-up back in November … but the four of you have been as close as ever recently, haven't you?"

James laughed bitterly. "I don't know if he'll ever forgive us … I'm not sure we deserve that forgiveness. No, he hangs out with us because he knows we'll let him withdraw into himself, that we'll pretend the happy face he puts on to show the world is the truth. Peter wouldn't … but Peter's too busy with his new girlfriend, or whatever it is that takes so much of his time these days."

"I've heard she's a Ravenclaw." Lily remarked absently. James blinked at the apparent non sequitur. "You know, Peter's new girlfriend. Ever noticed that most of the time he disappears, he takes homework with him?" But just as James thought he had been granted a reprieve, she shifted gears back to the original thread of conversation. "But I don't see what any of this has to do with Harry?"

"Within twenty-four hours of his arrival, Harry managed to breach barriers of Remus' that I didn't even know existed, much less was past myself. Harry … he's what Remus needs right now." James had a look of frightening determination on his face. "And I'll be damned if I'll be the one to mess that up. I'm messed up with Remus far too much already."

# # # # #

_:Why are you so awkward? You're never like this around me and Severus … Remus doesn't bite, I promise.:_

_:I … um. I don't know … it's just … it's been so long since we've been able to talk like this.:_

_:And you're afraid if you say the wrong thing, it'll all vanish?:_

_:Actually … I guess I sort of am …:_

He was startled back into reality by a hand on his shoulder – and bemused to find that the far wall was a lot closer than he expected. As in, about a foot away.

He could tell Remus was trying not to smile at the situation – the werewolf actually managed to retain a remarkably straight face as he pointed out, "I think we're supposed to turn here."

Harry endeavored to make his eyes as wide as possible. "You don't say …"

"I do, indeed." Remus returned with commendable gravity. "This may come as a surprise to you, but I'm sure in time you will understand that we cannot all walk through walls." He flushed suddenly. "I'm sorry … that was inexcusably rude of me."

Harry blinked. "What was?"

"Referring so flippantly to your … that is … um, the cause of your current state of –"

"My death?" Asked Harry the ever helpful.

"Er … yeah, that."

Harry shrugged. "Dying kind of sucked, though it was actually over fast enough that I almost didn't notice, but death itself has so far been a lot more interesting than I was originally led to believe. I have no regrets – well, maybe not none, but not _too_ many. Tell the truth, I'm almost happier dead than I was alive." He looked wistful for a moment. "I just wish I could talk to my old friends sometimes too."

Remus blinked. "But I thought … when you, um, get kicked out of someone's …"

"– Body that I go back to my own time?" Harry finished, seeing the werewolf looking increasingly uncomfortable – this, too, was obviously what he thought was a 'sensitive' topic to Harry. "I do … but for some reason, not everyone can see me."

"Oh … and your friends can't?" Remus, already looking sympathetic, paced onwards in silence for a few steps before finally offering a weak "That sucks."

"Yeah." Harry responded quietly. "It really does." He shook his head. "But, well … there's not much I can do about it now. And … knowing what I do now … I'd still make the same choice."

"I'm going to make sure you don't have to."

Harry looked at the older boy. "What do you …?"

"Exactly what I said." Remus said simply. "I know it won't help you, you … but _this_ you, the one who will be born four years from now into a world subtly different because of the changes you wrought … I'm going to make sure that he doesn't have to face the sorts of things you've had to. That he won't feel _obligated"_ And there, some of his anger crept in; anger not really at Harry, but at the situation he'd been put into, and the parts of his personality, and just everything that had conspired to convince him that he was some sort of modern day saviour. "to sacrifice himself to take down an enemy he shouldn't have had to even face in the first place."

"It's war, Remus." The look in Harry's eyes was older than it had any right to be. "You ought to know … you're living in one, right now. And no matter how sheltered Hogwarts may keep you, somewhere, you _know_ that something's going on out there. And it's not pretty. Yes, I was innocent. Here's a newsflash: so are a large percentage of the people that Voldemort – or his Death Eaters – ruthlessly slaughters. They deserved not to have to greet Death face to face either."

"And because of my sacrifice – the sacrifice of a single boy – there will be a lot more who won't have to any more. Let their preserved innocence be a tribute to that which I lost when Voldemort gave me this scar" he gestured, almost angrily himself, to the zigzag ridge that decorated his forehead "and I was consigned to live with people who told me – until I halfway believed it, because I certainly didn't know better otherwise – that my parents were useless drunks who mercifully killed themselves off in a car crash.

"It's worth it. If even one child was saved what I had to go through as a result of my sacrifice … it was worth it."

Ignored for the moment by the both of them, Peter felt Harry's passion and couldn't help but see his point, though he agreed far more with Remus. There was a small part of him, the part not caught up in the torrent of emotions swirling around Harry; anger and pain and nostalgia and even a bit of gratefulness – for however he reacted on the face of things, Harry was not left nearly as unaffected by Remus' solicitousness as he seemed – as well as a tangle of something else that even Peter could not decipher. And that small part took Harry's comment about Voldemort scarring him – a scar, the thought of which sparked the strongest surge of negative emotion yet – and stored it away to be considered at a later time. Something told him that it was probably important.

As for Remus … there were words, but try as he might, he could not convince them to come. They might have been thus: You_ are the one child who ought to have been saved_. A small, selfish part of him protested _As long as you were alive and happy, the rest of the world could have gone hang_ and an even smaller part traitorously murmured _But perhaps it is for the best … for had you not died the way you did, I never would have met you._

Or they might have simply boiled down to one of the few things he found himself in perfect agreement with the wolf on: _If you can be saved from that … any sacrifice on my part will be worth it._ It was new, this strange consensus between his usually warring selves. But man and beast, heart at its most primitive and head agreed.

Nothing would hurt Harry again. Ever. And whatever sacrifice was necessary for Remus to make, in order to keep that vow … he would make it.

# # # # #

"I suppose we should go ahead and part ways here." Remus said reluctantly as they approached the door to Professor Yamada's private lab – the place Remus had judged the professor to be most likely to be at this time of day. "I guess … I'll see you around?"

"Of course." Harry replied firmly, then grimaced. "Well, snakes aren't necessarily the easiest thing to come by … so I may not _see_ you … or rather, I'll see you but you won't see me because I'll be hidden in Peter and … yeah." He seemed, for a moment, to be reaching out, before that gesture was abruptly pulled back. "I'll … talk to you later."

"Yeah. Talk to you later." Remus affirmed, making an abortive gesture of his own; a fierce desire to simply touch the younger boy, communicate his understanding and sympathy and … any manner of things, which all seemed a bit hollow when they were being reinforced by nothing but his voice; battling with an even deeper certainty that it would be the wrong thing to do. Who would want to be touched by someone – some_thing_ – like him?

They stood there a moment more, neither knowing quite how to finish the conversation, before Harry finally nodded and, with a small smile towards Remus, turned away. The young werewolf watched him go for a moment, maybe two, before abruptly shaking himself and turning back to the door.

No more than a few moments after he knocked, the door opened to a slightly frazzled-looking Potions Master. "You should know by now that when I'm in my lab I'm – oh! Mr. Lupin, is there something I can do for you?"

Hagrid asked me to bring this to you. Remus thrust the box forward. Perhaps the blasted reptile was why Harry had come so unexpectedly to the fore. And perhaps walking with Harry had been sufficiently distracting that he had almost forgotten the contents of the box in his hands. That didn't change the fact that he did _not_ like snakes.

A bit puzzled, the shorter man opened said box slightly. "Ah … I see! Yes, this shall be very useful! I must remember to thank Hagrid next time I see him." Remus smiled a bit at his professor's obvious enthusiasm, then made the mistake of glancing down the hall to see if Harry was all the way gone yet.

Naturally curious, Professor Yamada followed his line of site, catching only a glimpse of the spirit as he turned the corner. "Who was that?"

The question rattled Remus. "It was just … Peter – I met him in the hall on the way down, and he decided he'd keep me company the rest of the way, but he didn't want to bother you …" He looked down, ashamed at having to lie about Harry, when what he really wanted to do was broadcast the spirit's presence to the world – _He's back!_ – and have them react with the same joy Remus felt every time he thought those two words.

And so he missed the look on his Potions professor's face as the man continued to look in the direction of the now-empty hallway, his eyes ever so slightly narrowed in thought.

_I don't recall Mr. Pettigrew having black hair …_

9 October 2004  
10 September 2012


	18. Chapter 18

Meh … Sorry guys. A bit harder a semester than I expected. Still, I managed to pull out of it with pretty good grades, and in compensation, this one should be significantly easier though, so _hopefully_ I will experience a corresponding increase in productivity …

We all know that Harry Potter does not belong me, so I shall move on now to the important part.

(11/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

# # # Chapter 18 # # #

"Peter, my child … is there anything you'd like to tell me?" The ever-genial old headmaster asked. "Oh dear, how remiss of me. First - sherbet lemon?" He held out a tin.

"Erh, no thanks." The blond replied weakly. "Citrus gives me hives."

"What a pity." The man popped one into his own mouth and leaned back in his chair slightly, folding his hands. "You know you can always come to me if you're ever in any … _trouble_, don't you?"

_:Shit, he knows!:_

_:Shut up. You're distracting me.:_

_:Sorry.:_

Peter forced himself to blink in a rather bemused fashion. "I … um … not that I know of, Headmaster. Why, was there a particular reason you wanted to see me? There hasn't been any trouble, has there?" Belatedly recalling the last thing that the Headmaster said (and he thought he'd been doing so well at answering everything in order, too), he hastily added, "And, um, certainly I'd come to you if I ever felt there was anything that you needed to know, or that I needed to tell you, or anything like that." He had the feeling that he was babbling, and just hoped that he was doing so in such a way as to convince the headmaster of his sincerity.

"Indeed there has not. Been any trouble, that is." Dumbledore chuckled in a way that invited him to share the joke. "A fact that, given the proclivities of your particular group of friends, has more than one of the faculty quite worried, I assure you."

Peter flushed. "I, well … I guess we've finally started to grow up?" _Okay, that came out sounding more hesitant than I'd like, but I've lied greater lies to cannier people. Like, say, my mother …_

"And … grow apart?"

Peter flinched, hating that it got to him. "It happens, sometimes. James … made a decision I did not – _could_ not – accept. So … we're still friends, but … we're not the people we used to be anymore." He forced himself to relax his grip on his braid – a sure sign that he was nervous, but hopefully one that Dumbledore would attribute to the more general anxiety of being called to the headmaster's office.

"It is hard to learn that your friends are not who you thought they were." The Headmaster said gravely. "Harder still to do what is right when that may seem like a betrayal … if new friends are not as beneficial an influence as old, or when old friends have transformed into someone you find you really don't know anymore." Somehow, Peter got the idea that they weren't talking about James anymore.

"Oh, it's nothing nearly so serious as all that." Peter forced himself to project a certain amount of relief – the sort that would be appropriate for a troublemaker who found out he wasn't in trouble after all. "We may not be as close anymore, but I'm hardly about to go challenge James to a duel to the death." This time it was he who chuckled invitingly. "Simply a difference of opinion."

"It is sad that such an interesting era has come to a premature end. Although I'm sure most of your professors would not agree." Dumbledore winked. "I must admit, I was quite looking forward to seeing what sort of outrageous prank you four would pull out as a going away present."

"Now, for _that_ cause, I would be willing to work even with my mortal enemies." Peter proclaimed with only partly false cheer. "You're quite right, professor. We really ought to get cracking on that … only a couple of months left, after all."

The blond stood, and the headmaster stood with him, coming around to the front side of the desk. "You do know you can come to me for anything, don't you, my boy?" The man reiterated. "No matter how slight the problem, my door is open."

_And do you say that to all your students, or just the precious Gryffindors?_ It always amused Peter when he noticed that his mental voice of reason (or, as he preferred to refer to it, his voice of cynicism) now spoke with Severus' voice. It was somehow … fitting. "I'll keep that in mind, Headmaster. Thank you."

"Anytime, my boy, anytime."

And with one last troublemaker-relieved-at-not-actually-being-in-trouble-after-all grin, Peter escaped with his secret, he hoped, still intact. Mostly.

As Peter left, Dumbledore looked down at the short note Professor Yamada had given him detailing his experience and tapped his fingers thoughtfully. He drew a sheet of paper and wrote out a reply to the effect that he had investigated the professor's concerns and thanked him for taking the time to air them.

A brief read-through satisfied him that his wording was appropriate; after that it was a simple matter to direct Fawkes to take it to the diminutive professor or, if he was not present or otherwise occupied, just leave it on his desk.

He then returned to contemplation. It seemed the child was innocent enough – as innocent as the Marauders ever were, certainly. There was a distinct possibility that Hiroyuki had simply been mistaken. However, that particular group of four were nothing if not consummate liars – and Peter commonly believed to be the best of the lot (either that or he of all of them most often actually told the truth).

There was no way to tell for certain which it was, truth or very carefully crafted lie. And he was learning better than to underestimate the wily spirit. Today had been a calculated risk that had, unfortunately, proven not to be as helpful as he hoped.

For now, he would bide his time.

# # # # #

Fifteen minutes later, Peter collapsed bonelessly across the food of Severus' bed – undisputedly the most comfortable object of furniture in his fairly spartan room. _:Gah.:_

_:I would agree to that.:_ Harry said dryly.

Peter closed his eyes. He preferred doing that when talking to Harry; it made it easier to pretend that he was just chatting with a nearby friend. _:So you would agree that we're screwed?:_

_:Sounds like a pretty accurate description of the situation, yes.:_

Harry sighed. _:He's suspicious, now … well, I'm sure he's been suspicious ever since I disappeared last time, but now he has a rather firmer suspicion. He'll find a way to cook something up to let him discover the truth sometime soon.:_ A snort. _:I wouldn't be surprised if he had laced those lemon drops with some sort of truth serum.:_

Peter laughed. _:Good thing I had an ironclad excuse not to take one, then.:_ At Harry's faint surprise, he raised an eyebrow at his passenger. _:What, you thought I was lying?:_

_:Oh, like you were being ever so frank in the rest of that conversation?:_

_:I prefer to think of it as … hm … shall we say, a constructive restructuring of the truth.:_

_:You, my friend, have been hanging out around Snape far too long.:_

_:I think I'll take that as a compliment.:_

At which point the latest subject of conversation glided out of the bathroom adorned by only two fluffy white towels – one wrapping up his hair, and one around his waist. One lock had escaped to plaster itself in a vaguely curl-shaped fashion against the side of his neck.

Both visible humans blinked. And Harry experienced a surprised reaction that, were he capable of doing so, would most likely have caused him to blink.

Severus squeaked, and dove back into the bathroom. Peter sat up and made a point of flopping back down on the same portion of the bed but facing _away_ from the bathroom.

"Sorry. Didn't realize you were still showering."

"It's what I always do at this time of day." Severus called from the bathroom. "You're usually not around until at least an hour or two from now."

"I just got out of a meeting with Dumbledore."

The Slytherin reappeared into his field of view, hair dripping a bit and darker than usual from the water, but looking otherwise like his normal self. "I don't know whether to be pleased or disturbed that the first place you decided to come to was _my_ room."

Peter considered that thought for a moment. "Come to think of it … that makes two of us." As Harry expressed his opinion, he added, "And Harry would like to make that sentiment unanimous."

Severus sat at the desk, habitually conjuring up a chair across from it for Peter. The Gryffindor pulled himself off the bed and pointedly made the conjured chair – as spartan as the rest of Severus' room – somewhat more comfortable before sitting down. Severus rolled his eyes.

It approached a ritual; essentially the same pattern had been followed every time Peter came to visit since … oh, probably the third or fourth time. Once the ritual had been followed, however, Severus became all business. "So you think he knows?"

Peter rubbed his forehead. "I'm afraid so. I wouldn't swear to it, but … he was laying it on just a little too thick, you know?" He flapped his hand in a way meant to be effeminate. "_Oh,_ dear boy, just _remember_ you can come see me _anytime_, for _anything_, no matter _how_ small."

Severus snorted – the closest he usually came to laughter – then shook his head. "For a _Gryffindor_, perhaps."

It was several years before Peter finally explained what it was that had caused him to break out into uncontrollable laughter.

# # # # #

"Has anyone come up with some adult contacts that they think can be trusted since last we met?" Petunia, who to her never-ending dismay seemed to have become fairly entrenched in the leadership of their group, asked. Then, to head off an incipient outpour, "Yes, Sarah, we know about your brother Mark. We'll deal with that next Hogweed weekend."

"Hogsmeade." The majority of the Hogwarts students corrected her en masse, while the blonde previously addressed settled back into her seat, a bit disgruntled but mostly amused at how thoroughly she had been anticipated.

"Hogsmeade, right. Is there anyone else?"

Holly – one of the newer members of the group – raised her hand tentatively. "I've written a letter to my mum, explaining … well, you know. About You-Know-Who and all that stuff that we've been trained to hide from our parents to keep them from worrying." She bit her lip. "I hope she takes it okay. She accepted my being a witch well enough, but …"

Everyone in the room with at least one Muggle parent nodded understandingly. No matter how much and often their parents claimed they accepted their child's differences, spending the last several years in the wizarding world had brought with it a certain amount of indoctrination … and far too many stories about burnings at the stake and similar horrors. Enough to make anyone wary, even if only subconsciously, no matter how well they thought they knew their parents.

"That's two, then."

"My Uncle Jack owns a hunting range." One of the two new boys – Stephan, Petunia thought his name was – contributed. "I thought, we could get people certified for hunting and firearm ownership, maybe … and my mum's a witch, so he's used to the whole magic thing, even though he doesn't really know the full extent of our current situation either."

The remaining new member, Daniel, scratched his head. "So you're saying that I'm the only person we know who actually told their parents the full and unvarnished truth about the situation with You-Know-Who originally?"

"No _wonder_ they almost didn't let you come back second year!" Stephan burst, with the air of someone who had finally solved a terribly complicated puzzle. Petunia vaguely recalled something about the two of them being dorm-mates, which would explain their apparent familiarity with each other.

But this was hardly the time to be speculating and bemoaning what a bad memory she had for details; there was other business to be dealt with and not a lot of time to deal with it in, if they wanted to maintain the illusion that there wasn't some sort of conspiracy going on.

Of course, they were all Hufflepuffs. People would probably just assume they'd set up a knitting circle or something. More the fool them.

"So, Veronica, how's your project coming?" Being the most Ravenclaw-esque of the lot (although Stephan occasionally showed signs of giving her a run for her money), the Asian girl had actually been put in charge of several projects, so Petunia felt she probably ought to clarify further. "The, um, charms to block that memory spell."

"Obliviate." She reminded Petunia, despite the fact that she had done so many times before and the Muggle had yet to listen to her. "And … well … about that …" She actually looked discomfited, an unusual expression for the Ravenclaw-like Hufflepuff. "I think I've actually made a significant breakthrough, but, well …"

It then became apparent why she had taken up a place near the door of the room they had finally picked out – she opened the door and ushered in a new person. "… the breakthrough wasn't really mine."

"I _told_ you we needed to be more careful." Sarah's exasperated voice could be heard. "Hufflepuffs. Honestly."

The new girl turned to Ronnie, a small, startled smile on her face. "I thought you said I'd be the only Slytherin." Upon turning, her crest – the Slytherin serpent indeed – became clearly visible.

Petunia shook her head. "There aren't any Slytherins here other than you. That's just our resident quota of sarcasm speaking."

"I prefer to think of myself as one of the final bastions of good sense." Sarah informed the group snootily, then shrieked with laughter when Edwin showed the good sense to grab her and muss her hair. "Hey, geroff!"

"You are one of the oddest conspiracy groups I've been involved with." The Slytherin commented.

"You've been involved in others?"

"I'm a _Slytherin_." The girl rolled her eyes. "If you haven't been involved in at least four or five conspiracies by the time you hit fifth year, you're almost not worth your name."

Petunia rubbed her nose. "I hate to sound prejudiced, but from what I've heard, a Slytherin is the last person I'd expect to be in this particular group."

The girl blinked. "Well, I will admit that I don't really care whether the Muggles know about the wizarding world or not – I don't have an opinion one way or the other, really. And I don't exactly see how it will make any difference one way or the other in this war against Voldemort. But it's something that's going to make a difference. And while conspiracies to sneak an extra dessert after dinner without anyone else learning are all very well and good, they don't really have any impact on the world."

Edwin's eyes narrowed. "You're being awfully straight-forward."

"I'm among Hufflepuffs." A shrug. "When in Rome …"

"I say we might as well let her in. Better than wondering what she's doing with the information." Elle contributed. "On one condition. Her eyes narrowed. You might not care about Muggleborns or Voldemort or any number of things, but we do. You _must_ respect that. And your actions need to agree with those goals. No trying to turn this to Voldemort's benefit or anything like that."

The girl considered that for a moment. "Very well."

Elle turned to Edwin and Petunia. "You know my vote."

Petunia stepped forward. "I'm Petunia Evans, one of the de facto leaders of this group. I'm also a Muggle. Can you deal with that?"

"I already said I was fine with muggleborns …" the girl began, exasperation creeping into her voice.

Exasperation creeping into her own voice (she had been the victim of this particular misunderstanding entirely too many times), Petunia said, "I'm not a Muggleborn. I'm a _Muggle_. Not a drop of magic in me."

A blink. "Oh. That's, um, different." A shrug. "But as long as you have intelligence and some notion of strategy – as long as you're a decent leader and aren't expecting to lead us onto the field of magical battle or anything like that … I'm fine with it."

"Then it sounds like you're in …?" Petunia raised an eyebrow in a silent request for an introduction.

The other girl shook her head briefly, then nodded firmly and took Petunia's outstretched hand. "I'm Violet Rosier."

# # # # #

_:I expected it to be easier, you know?:_ The habit too ingrained for him to even take much conscious notice of the actions themselves, Peter idly watched his reflection cast a basic tooth-cleansing charm – applied starting when wizarding children were simply babies, and supposedly a lifelong charm, but daily reapplication was still recommended – and splash water on his face.

_:I bet Hermione would love that charm.:_ There was a misty smile to Harry's musings. _:Even her parents might approve of it, since it still requires the same sort of daily upkeep that brushing one's teeth does.:_

Peter's reflection frowned. _:I think I saw someone brushing their teeth once. With a small stick that had … bristles stuck to it. Like a brush, only smaller. It looked horridly uncomfortable.:_

Harry laughed. _:That's arguably the point. You make something painful, people are more likely to remember it. And even if they don't particularly _want_ to do it, they'll be more likely to think it worth being done. No pain, no gain, as the saying goes.:_

The blond raised an eyebrow, knowing that Harry would see his reflection doing it even if he didn't notice and properly interpret the muscle movement. _:That strikes me as a very Muggle saying. You might have noticed that we wizards … are not necessarily all that fond of the whole pain thing. We try to make life easier when possible, actually.:_

_:Well, Muggles do the same thing. Convenience over effort, that is … But it's still … I don't know. Ingrained on some level, I guess.: _

The impression of a headshake. _:Sorry … I get these occasional bursts of nostalgia. You were saying something about … something?:_

_:I can tell you were listening very closely.:_

Peter grinned, although the amused expression fell away gradually as he continued. _:I was just thinking … I expected this to be easier. You know, the two of us, together?:_ He ran the braid between his thumb and forefinger, checking for any obvious kinks. There was nothing too outstanding, so he flipped it back over his shoulder, making the executive decision not to re-braid it. _:After all, it's not like we practically hate each other, like you and James or Sirius or probably Lily … though I wouldn't blame you if you did …:_

_:Hey, what have I told you? You and the Wormtail from my time are _not _the same person. I'm _not_ going to blame you for his misdeeds. That would be like … like hating this Snape because he made my potions classes a living hell for four years running. Or instantly taking to Remus because he was my favorite Defense teacher ever.:_

_:Are you saying you're not taken with Moony?:_ Again with the eyebrow raising … and a very definite bubble of amusement.

_:Yes, I mean NO, I mean … gah. Of _course_ I like Remus. I defy anyone _not_ to. But I didn't just mindlessly like him solely because of my experience with his older version.: _Staunchly, :I_ think he's likable enough in his own right.:_

_:Preaching to the choir, my friend. Remember, I've been friends with him for the last seven years … ever since we first met on the train. Offered me half his only chocolate frog, he did … and after that, well, I was his friend for life.:_

_:The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, eh?:_

_:See? I really wish I could have smacked you across the backside of the head just now. In only the most kind and comradely of fashions, of course.:_

_:… I got the idea you had a point you were intending to bring up sometime … or have we scared it into submission already?:_

_:Oh, right. My point. Well … I was just thinking, I used to figure that you'd probably end up a guest in my head someday. You certainly seem to be making the rounds, intentionally or not. And, truth to tell, I was kinda looking forward to it. I mean, you, me, we're pretty good friends. Coexisting in the space of one head can't be that hard, can it? It's not like you can leave your dirty laundry draped on my nose or, or read my diary while I'm not looking, or anything like that. Or like I can do anything similarly annoying to you.: _

Still running on autopilot, he packed his bookbag with books and assignments to turn in for the classes he had that day and slung it over one shoulder. Which always brought to mind his mother's lecture when he was much younger about how if he wore his bookbag on one shoulder all the time, he would end up an old hunchback doomed to die friendless and alone. And because he was a dutiful son (well, mostly …), this always (well, usually) prompted him to slip on the other strap so that the weight was more properly balanced.

_:So, I was just saying. I thought it would be easy … and it's not. We're friends, but we just don't … have enough in common, maybe? And actually, it would probably have been easier if we hated each other's guts … at least then I wouldn't feel guilty and torn when we both want … different things.:_

_:You're most comfortable around Severus these days.: _Harry observed. _:It surprised me at first, but … that's the way it is. And while I see him almost as a brother –:_ a tangle of embarrassment and … awe? that Peter couldn't quite parse accompanied that thought.

_:Right now, at least, Remus is a greater draw to you.:_ Peter continued, nodding to himself as he walked down the hall. A girl in front of him, passing in the other direction – Gryffindor by her badge, probably several years younger given that he didn't recognize her at a glance – smiled and blushed and then squeaked a bit and hurried onward. Belatedly, he realized she had probably thought he was nodding towards _her_. _:And there's no doubt in my mind that Remus is my friend, but …:_

For a moment it occurred to him to wish that the stone hallways were a bit less solidly made; he suddenly really wanted something to kick at, something that wouldn't just give him a stubbed toe, but would then make that comforting skittering noise as it disappeared further down the hall, possibly to be kicked again at some later point. Unfortunately, the floor was too well made to have provided any helpfully loose stones.

_:He is my friend, but Severus is my friend too. And as I've been getting closer to Severus, I've been drawing further away from Remus … I tried, once or twice, to invite him to Severus' and my hanging out sessions, but … it never really worked out quite right, even the few times he came before we all kind of … gave up.:_ Again, the wish for a stray piece of _something_ to kick, this time out of frustration. _:It doesn't help that Remus seems perfectly content to withdraw. And you seem to be the only one who can pull him out of it anymore … I don't really know how to read him anymore and James and Sirius never did.:_

_:He seemed fine when I saw him …: _The hint of a wry smile. _:At least, before my awkwardness ruined things.:_

_:If it makes you feel any better, I doubt he ascended out of his own pit of awkwardness far enough to actually notice you were as bad off as he.:_ A snort. _:And see, here would be a good time for a comforting hand on your shoulder.:_ He shook his head, tired. _:We want different things, we're needed in different places …:_

_:Yeah …:_ Harry said quietly. _:We may be friends, but we're too different as people. And you're right. It's a lot harder when I can't even properly resent you for spending time with Severus instead of letting me be around Remus.:_

_:Want me to go spend some time with James instead?:_ Peter asked lightly. _:I could help him dream up some utterly _awful_ prank. Give you a good excuse to blow off some steam, get a good boil of resentment going. Would probably be good for you.:_

_:You do realize that that metaphor holds no water.:_

_:Pot. Kettle.:_

So it happened that by the time he slid into his now-customary seat beside Remus, the smile had begun to return to his face.

"What has you in such a good mood?" The werewolf asked quietly, under the cover of intentionally loud movement of books and other preparations for the beginning of class.

"Just … a bit of wordplay with … you know." He jerked his head upward slightly. "How are _you_ doing?"

Remus' dawning smile died and was replaced by blankness. "Eh. Well enough." A shrug. "It's only just past the new moon. Won't be another full for weeks yet."

"That's not what I meant …"

His deskmate rolled his eyes and reached over to tug at the blond braid, a bit of good-natured exasperation cracking the blankness. "I'm _fine_, mother. Stop worrying."

Out of long habit, their conversation had been held at 'plotting-something-dreadful' levels – that is, as near to nonexistent as could be managed and still be heard – but the hair-pulling had attracted the professor's attention anyway.

Professor McGonagall seemed to appear out of nowhere (a habit she had far more often than any of the Marauders had ever found comforting), staring sternly down her nose at the two miscreants. "Boys … do I need to separate you?"

"No, Professor McGonagall. We'll be good. We promise." They replied in stereo.

With a disbelieving snort, the middle-aged professor (_:She has a lot less grey in her hair than when I knew her.:_ was Harry's comment) shook her head but seemed content to leave it at that … for now. She swept back to the front and rapped her wand sharply on the desk to signify the start of class.

Everyone automatically came to attention – even, Peter was amused to note, Harry. _:She still do that in your time?:_

_:A lot is different.:_ Harry observed, apparently idly. _:But some things, I doubt will ever change.:_

_:… Harry?:_ Peter asked, several minutes later.

_:No, I'm afraid I don't know how to change a placemat into a peacock. Or the other way, for that matter, either.:_

Peter snorted into his placemat, appeasing Remus' questioning look with another quick glance upwards. Of course, in that brief moment, Remus' placemat – which so far looked still looked more or less like a placemat, if a placemat were to have clawed feet, a beak, and a rather fine peacock tail – managed to escape from his control and skittered away.

_:A good thing to know so that I won't ask you in the future, but not really what I meant.:_ The blond said, as he tried hard not to snicker at the picture of poor Remus trying to convince his birdlike placemat that no, James' shoes were not appropriate chewing material. _:I just … well, I know I said this isn't easy, but I wanted to let you know that that doesn't mean I really resent you being here. You know? It's more difficult than I expected, but that doesn't mean it's bad.:_

Harry was too caught up in laughing at the way James' fully formed peacock seemed determined to fight Remus' poor mutant for dominance – that is, before its creator went a bit too far and colored it a particularly virulent shade of neon green. Highly offended, it then proceeded to join the attack against James' shoes.

That much, while funny, was certainly no worse than other tricks Peter had seen pulled (and helped pull off himself) in his day. What took the cake, though, was when Sirius added to the chaos by changing his placemat into a pea_hen_. As he proclaimed to all and sundry that he could hardly do anything else to such a _girly_ looking placemat, James' peacock … shall we say, lost all interest in his shoes.

Less than a minute later, class had been called short for the day and the class had been ushered out of the room by a pink-cheeked McGonagall.

Then, and only then, Harry finally managed to regain control of himself. _:Okay … so all hope of a serious conversation kinda went out the window for a while there …:_ One last snort. _:Um. Anyway. Thanks. And you're not so bad either. I've had a pretty good time stuck in your head. Even if I _was_ subjected to the scarring sight of you two sleeping together.:_

_:Oi!:_ Peter spluttered, unable for a moment to form even coherent thoughts. _:For one thing, it was a_ nap_. We were both _tired._ It lasted for less than an hour –:_

_:Two and a half.: _Harry corrected helpfully. _:I timed it.:_

_:– and it wouldn't have happened at all if we hadn't stayed up late the night before working on homework.:_

_:Uh huh. Excuses.:_

_:You were there! You _know_ it was completely innocent. Besides … a little bird informed me that you've taken your turn in his bed as well. People in glass houses …:_

_:Uh huh.: _Peter got the distinct feeling that, had Harry been corporeal and right in front of him, his head would have been receiving a rather vigorous pat on the head. _:Wormtail, my friend … your head's a pretty cozy place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live here.:_

_:Thanks. I …:_ He paused. _:Wait – hey!: _A moment of fuming. _:Oh, for the ability to smack you in the back of the head …:_

But really, he couldn't get too mad. He'd gotten what he needed to off his chest, with no hard feelings and no harm done … the situation could be far worse than this.

And for that knowledge, he could deal with the occasional frustrated annoyance. _:I _will_ figure out how to do it someday. And when I do …:_

Okay, so he never claimed he would deal with it _well_ …

6 January 2005  
10 September 2012


	19. Chapter 19

Ech. No school, and I still can't write at a pace worth a damn.

Still, it's something, I suppose.

my disclaim "Harry Potter does not belong to me";

print disclaim if (not (HarryPotter == mine));

(… Yes, I've been studying Perl.)

(11/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

# # # Chapter 19 # # #

_::You're hurting me, you insensitive jerk.:: _

"Um … look. I don't like snakes very much. In fact, I'm kinda afraid of you. But I'd really like you to do something for me."

_::I wouldn't give you the time of day if you got down on your knees and _begged_. And stop holding me so tight!:: _

"You see, I have this friend. And, well …"

_::Good god. Not just any teenager. Oh no. It would have to be an angsty teenager with girl problems who absolutely reeks of wolf. Nasty creatures, those.:: _

"It's complicated. But I can only see him when he's in the presence of a snake."

_::Excuse me. Boy troubles. That's at least an attempt at originality.:: _

"And, well, I _really_ want to spend some more time with him. So since I happened to see you, and managed to catch you, I was wondering if you would mind terribly much if I brought you with me?"

_::What would you do if I said 'yes', furbrain?:: _

"You'll probably like Harry. He talks to snakes too, well, you know, like I do. But I don't think he's afraid of you the way I am. And he's a really nice person."

_::Harry … hey, isn't that …?:: _

The large being (and no wonder that he had troubles, with a face as ugly as that! Or perhaps all humans were similarly disfigured … he hadn't met _that_ many, after all) stood and started walking towards the large stone structure called 'school' and 'Hogwarts', jolting the snake's body painfully with each step.

He looked down, surprised, when he felt the remainder of the snake's body wrap around his forearm and squeeze comfortably tight. "Oh … so I take it that you don't mind after all?" From the tenseness in the boy's arm, the snake suspected it was only the thought of this mysterious boy he wanted to meet – this 'Harry' – that kept the smelly human from throwing him as far away as possible.

_::It should be interesting. Besides, if you're going to be dragging me in there anyway, the least you could do is allow me to take a more comfortable position.::_

_::And _would_ you stop gripping my head so tightly?:: _

# # # # #

As was often the case with the halls in Hogwarts, Lily heard Peter coming before she saw him. Remus she did see first – how he managed to be that quiet even when walking normally, she'd never quite figured out – but he passed quickly from her range of view. Given that it was a Saturday and she didn't have any real obligations at the moment – her next assignment wasn't due until Wednesday – she quickly succumbed to her curiosity and followed.

"… I brought, um, something." The brown-haired boy sounded more tentative than usual, as if that 'something' might not be necessarily happily received. Curiosity sparked even further, she snuck to the corner and peeked around. Peter was facing towards her, but didn't seem to be paying much attention to his surroundings (bar Remus), and Remus had his back to her – and a _snake_ around his arm.

Now, Lily may not have shared a dorm room with Remus, and she was certain that she did not know even close to all his secrets, but they _had_ lived in relatively close proximity for the past seven years. She _knew_ he was practically phobic of snakes. She had _been _there in that one Herbology class in third year when he had practically fainted upon coming unexpectedly face-to-face harmless garden snake. (And while he might not have actually fainted, his screech was still legendary.) To see him actually _carrying_ one …

Then all became clear. Seemingly spontaneously, Peter melted away, to be replaced by a very familiar visage. Remus' arm came out from behind his back, arms gesturing vaguely as he apologized for something; Harry – for the black-haired apparition that had taken Peter's place could be no one else – also gestured, accepting or waving away the apology; she wasn't quite sure, as she couldn't hear very well through the rushing in her ears.

_Harry._ It was one thing for James to tell her he thought he heard him but pull her away before she got a look herself; quite another to not only see him, but see who he was currently possessing _and_ the likely cause of the transformation from said possessee.

She turned away and paced back down the hall the way she'd came. Dumbledore would certainly want to know this.

_Harry … he's what Remus needs right now._ The memory appeared so sudden and clear that it felt almost like a physical slap to the face. _And I'll be damned if I'll be the one to mess that up. I've messed up with Remus far too much already._

Determination of a different sort hardened her face and lengthened her stride. _No. I won't do it._ She paused, looking back towards the corner, hesitating. Then determination returned, and she nodded once, sharply. With a short incantation and a complex wave of her wand (roughly resembling a cloverleaf), she hit that general area – and more to the point, any group of people in that area – with one of the stronger, but simultaneously less obvious, concealment charms that she knew.

_As strange as it seems, James holds a certain amount of trust in you. And I'm willing to trust his judgment. But you had better hope his faith in you is justified. _

_Because if you hurt Remus, never mind what James'll do to you. I'll hunt you down _myself.

Meanwhile, maybe she'd take a look at that Charms homework after all.

# # # # #

"… I brought, um, something." Remus smiled uncertainly.

Peter's eyes widened impossibly large. "A present? For _me?_!" When Remus made as if to punch him (his other arm, presumably holding the present, whatever it was, remained behind his back), he leaned out of the way and grinned. "Seriously … what is it?"

"… well …"

_::Oh, for God's sake … spit it out already.:: _If it had been a motion possible for snake anatomy, this particular one would have been rolling its eyes. _::__I swear, you are the most hesitant human I have _ever_ encountered.:: _

_::Cut him some slack … he's nervous.:: _The snake's head whipped up in shock at the unexpected voice, unable to place it until he found himself brought around in front of the boy that tasted of wolf (and why on earth he would think that, he hadn't a clue … this hesitant human was certainly the least wolf-like creature he had ever encountered).

"Shit, Harry, I'm sorry … tell Peter I'm sorry, too … I picked this thing" Remus waved the hand holding the snake around, prompting a hiss of displeasure (both about being waved around so cavalierly, and about being referred to as a 'thing') "up, but I wasn't going to show him to you until I had explained, but then you changed anyway, and I'm really sorry …"

Harry raised his hands placatingly. "Whoa, whoa. Calm down, Remus. 'Sokay … we would have appreciated a little more warning, yeah … but it's obvious that you _meant_ to give us that warning, so … it's the thought that counts, right? Besides, it's not like anyone saw us."

Remus belatedly changed a motion so that it was the fingers on his unencumbered hand that combed through his hair. "And thank Merlin for that … if my actions had directly caused your dismissal, or harm in any way, or anything … I don't know if I'd have been able to forgive myself."

Harry gave that the solemn consideration it deserved. "I can't say that I blame you for feeling that way. It's how I would react as well. But …" an abortive movement in Remus' direction followed by a brusque shake of his head. "… as long as there are no malicious intentions involved – and I'm operating on the assumption that there aren't; you are many things, Remus, but I've never seen you be actively malicious … I don't think it's in your nature."

The werewolf could feel his face heating up, and desperately hoped he wasn't actively blushing. Harry's intent regard, however (which, of course, hardly helped the situation, as it just increased his embarrassment), rather disabused him of that notion. He opened his mouth to make some sort of contrary statement (Harry was making him out to be some kind of saint, and he certainly wasn't that great … how could he be?), but the words all stuck in his throat.

Finally that intensity dropped off as the younger wizard shook his head. "Sorry … where was I?" He cocked his head, eyes going momentarily distant. "Right, thanks Peter. What I was trying to say … I won't try to convince you to forgive yourself, if that ever happens; I know that's probably entirely a lost cause. But … I want you to know that even if you can't forgive yourself … I'll forgive you."

"I …" Why was it that he had such a hard time stringing together a coherent sentence? "… I don't know what to say. I can't believe … I just …"

Harry grinned impishly. "I'm sure you don't think you deserve my faith in you. Well, tough beans. You have it anyway."

"I …" And finally, words, did come. Now it was him looking at Harry intently. "You're right. I don't deserve it. But … I'm going to do my damnedest to live up to it anyway. I won't make you sorry you put your faith in me."

Again, the younger boy cocked his head – a mannerism Remus was beginning to associate with when he and Peter were talking; knowing that, he just rocked back on his heels and waited patiently. He didn't have to wait long; soon enough Harry was hitting his forehead with his palm. "Ah, geez … I'm so inconsiderate." His eyes flicked back towards Remus. "Peter just reminded me … you must be awfully uncomfortable, having that snake on your arm the whole time. Would you like me to take him?"

"Ah … it's all right …" Remus tried to demur, in an effort not to seem a burden. But between Harry's polite-yet-disbelieving look and the fact that he was sure Peter was filling his ears with all the embarrassing stories about his run-ins with this particular breed of reptile (up to and including that time in third year when he almost fainted) … well … his dignity was likely already in shreds already, right? He sighed. "… Would you? Please?"

Harry gently detached the snake from where it had wrapped itself around Remus' arm. "I'm impressed … it must have liked you. Snakes have a tendency of defecating when they get scared."

Remus' voice cracked. "I might have _snake poop_ on me?!"

_::Oh, please. I'd never be that uncivilized.:: _Said reptile snorted. _::__Well … at least not as long as my curiosity continues to outweigh my common sense …:: _

# # # # #

Through a bit of stealth and a few hasty Disillusionment Charms (they were in the middle of learning them in seventh-year Charms at the moment, Remus explained, as an excuse for the way they were a bit patchy and more than a little wobbly around the edges), the two and their snake chaperone managed to find their way to an empty terrace – something both agreed was a bit more conducive to private conversation than standing in the middle of an open hallway just _waiting_ for someone else to come along.

"This is a nice place." Remus observed idly, propping his feet up on an unoccupied chair. "How'd you find it? … If you don't mind me asking, that is."

Harry shook his head. "It wasn't me, actually. Peter …" he coughed, cheeks tinged pink, "… suggested it. He said it was nice and secluded and relatively soundproof as well, and since that was pretty much what we were looking for …"

Remus combined Harry's words with his blushing and quickly drew the correct conclusion as to just what Peter had been up to when he first discovered this place. He, too, coughed. "Yes, well … thank him for me? This is really a nice place."

"I wonder if it's still around … later?" Harry looked around. "I would … it would have been nice to have someplace like this to come every now and then. Especially near the end of last semester, when I was studying so hard."

"The common room a bit too busy for your tastes?" Remus observed. "I know it sometimes is for me … I've laced my bed curtains with two-way silencing charms and set up a portable lamp, though, so I generally go there when I want more than the usual level of quiet."

Harry looked thoughtful. "A lamp … now there's a nice idea I didn't think of. I've had silencing charms up since the beginning of the year, but since all my roommates know about them, they have no compunctions about opening the curtains and dragging me out anyway if they felt it necessary."

Remus grinned, showing a few too many teeth. "Oh, the other three learned very early on that disturbing me while I was studying would bring a fate worse than death down on their heads." Harry raised his eyebrows, and Remus' grin grew positively evil. "I wouldn't help _them_ with _their_ homework."

Harry grinned back. "You really _are_ evil." The werewolf made a show of buffing his fingertips against his shirt and then examining them. "Unfortunately, that same trick wouldn't have worked for me …" his grin turned lopsided "… although Hermione would probably have had a good laugh at the idea of needing my help with her homework." He sighed. "… I wish she were here right now. I could use her cool head."

"You seem to be doing an admirable job to me." Remus offered hesitantly. "I doubt I'd be holding up nearly as well in your place."

"Yeah, except for my whole love affair with blurting out information I never intended to." Harry scoffed. "If Hermione were here, I bet all of you would never have even suspected anything was wrong, much less learned that I'm –" He cut himself off.

"… That you're …?"

Harry sighed. "I just almost did it again …"

Remus' face fell, and he looked away. _I wish you trusted me, Harry …_

"Argh!"

Remus looked up, curious, at the sudden exclamation. "Sorry, it's just that … it's the first time we've gotten to talk in ages … and here I am, messing everything up with my issues." Harry apologized ruefully.

"I think everyone's entitled to a few issues." Remus dared to joke, gently. "Merlin knows I have enough of my own … pretty sad pair that makes us, eh?"

Harry closed his eyes. "Peter says he hasn't seen anything this sad since the last time James tried to sway Lily with his best puppy-eyes look." A pause. "I'm pretty sure he's joking."

Remus had to choke back a laugh at Harry's deadpanned tone. "I would hope so … there are just no words to describe how pitiful a sight that is."

"…I really am sorry, though." Harry said suddenly. "I … okay, I've never done this before, so it'll probably come out all wrong and stupid, but … your presence, your company … you mean a lot to me. And I know that what we have is based on a lot of misconceptions, because of the stuff I haven't said … but it's still … what we have means a lot to me. And I'm just so afraid that … if I were to let everything out, tell you everything … that I'd lose you too." He let out a shaky sigh. "I told you it was stupid, didn't I?"

"It's not stupid. Not at all." Remus protested immediately. "I mean … I can't say that I'm happy that you're keeping all these secrets about yourself … I can truthfully say that I'm really not. But I'm trying my best to understand, and not pressure you, because I know that I … well, I've kept my share of secrets in my time, too. And I understand that much, at least, even if I don't understand what you're keeping secret or why you feel you have to."

"You've done a lot better at keeping your secrets than I've been doing with mine." Harry noted wryly.

"Practice."

"… I wish you hadn't needed that practice."

"… And I wish you didn't feel like you needed it now." A weighty pause, before Remus matched Harry's wry smile. "And if wishes were horses …"

"… we all would ride." Harry finished.

"Actually, I was about to say 'no one would go hungry', but …" Remus grinned toothily.

"Remus! Gross!" Harry laughed through his disgust at the mental image that evoked.

The werewolf just continued to smile, allowing the toothy edges to fall away so that it better reflected his simple contentment with seeing Harry's genuine laughter, even if it was at such a poor joke as this.

_::Horses would be a bit large for my tastes as well, I admit.:: _The snake, until then having remained respectfully silent (in other words, eavesdropping with all its might, in the hopes of gaining some interesting morsel of information), seemed convinced it was necessary for him to contribute an opinion as well.

_::Oh, don't you start.:: _Harry muttered – quite interesting, really, the sounds that resulted from an attempt to mutter hissing.

_::So it is really true! You _are_ the speaker of our tongue of which I had heard so many rumors. I feared at first that your speaking intelligibly was a simple coincidence … I had expected there to be some sort of sign of who you are; yet you seem just as human as the rest of them.:: _

_::A sign like what?:: _Harry asked bitterly, still in a low tone. _::__The Chamber of Secrets being opened so those poor starved basilisks can kill even more innocent humans? I'm sorry, but if that's what you were expecting, you're going to go home disappointed.:: _

_::You value life. That, I think is a good thing.:: _The snake calmly replied, for that was the answer it knew, although it knew not of any opening of what it supposed was the Chamber, that place where their giant cousins resided.

But the silence in human conversation had grown a bit stretched. "Um … Harry?" At the questioning tone, Harry lifted his head from where it had sunk to look more fully at the snake. "Are you … all right?"

_::Yeah, sure … I'm fine. Sorry.:: _Harry replied, scratching at the base of his neck.

Remus looked confused.

"I said I'm fine … sorry for losing track of the conversation like that."

"No …" Remus' brow furrowed. "You didn't … you hissed at me."

Harry shook his head stubbornly. "No, I –" realization widened his eyes. "… shit." That last came out weakly, as he tried to quell his rising panic. A feeling not at all helped by the frown on Remus' face or the way he could almost _hear_ the gears clicking in his friend's brain.

"You." The word hit the tense silence like a gunshot; Harry visibly flinched. "Are a Parselmouth, aren't you?" The werewolf shook his head. "Never mind. The look on your face is answer enough."

Harry swallowed. "Remus, I …"

"_This_ was your secret?" Remus interrupted incredulously. "_This_ is what you were trying so hard to keep me from learning?" He snapped his fingers. "No, that's not right. Your last name – for some reason, I get the feeling that that's an even larger secret than this."

Harry stayed miserably silent.

"_God_, Harry! What sort of person do you think I _am_! _I_ am a Dark _Creature_, for crying out loud … did you really think I would _care_ if you exhibited a simple ability that's commonly supposed to be dark?"

"Well, obviously you _do_." The spirit spat back, stung.

"_No!_" Remus replied vehemently before the final word had even finished leaving Harry's mouth. "I personally don't _care_ whether you can talk to snakes or not. What _I_ find insulting is that you couldn't trust me enough to tell me the truth."

Harry's mouth twisted. "I notice that Lily hasn't a clue that you're a werewolf." He observed.

Remus flinched, but quickly recovered. "I am also not, and have never been, as close to Lily as I thought – I suppose I should say 'hoped' – we were."

"Damn it, Remus …" Harry's voice had returned to its normal volume … perhaps even quieter. "… it's not like this is new, you know. You _knew_ I had secrets. You _knew_ I wasn't comfortable with telling them to you. And the way you're reacting now hardly does anything but affirm my convictions that keeping quiet was the right thing to do. If this is going to be how you react every time …"

"Harry …" Remus' eyes were sad. "This in no way changes my opinion of the sort of person you are. You're still Harry to me. No matter what happens, that will never change. But I like you. A lot. And because of that, I can't help but want to know more about you. Especially when I know so little." He laughed a little, self-consciously. "Especially when you already seem to know everything about me."

"I never knew you were an only child." Harry said, still quietly. "I still don't know what you did in the years between when you graduated and when you came back to Hogwarts to teach in my third year – though judging from the threadbare state of your clothing, it was probably nothing terribly good to you." A snort. "Actually, I don't even really know what-all you got up to while you _were_ still here at Hogwarts, barring a few of the more colorful incidents. I don't try to convince you to tell me about those episodes of your life you'd rather not share …" a sigh, as Harry ran his hand through his hair. "The Parseltongue thing might seem small, but it's just another facet of something … of everything I was hoping this second chance at living, if not at life, would allow me to escape." A piercing look. "I don't make you confess your secrets … please allow me to keep mine."

"Is there something you want to know about me?" Remus spread his arms. "Ask. I have no secrets from you, Harry. I _trust_ you with my secrets. I trust you with myself. I know you won't betray that trust." He pinned Harry with his own piercing look. "Can you say the same of me?"

Harry's downcast eyes and the way his face turned ever so slightly away were answer enough. "That's what I thought."

"I … I'm sorry, I just can't."

"Then perhaps you ought to leave." Remus said quietly. "Go back home, to the people who already know your secrets." His chair seemed to scrape inordinately loudly against the floor as he stood and walked to the door. "Go be with the people you trust, since you obviously can't trust any of us."

And left.

# # # # #

_It was for the best_. He whispered to himself, a silent mantra to ward off the pain. It took so much willpower to not just turn around and walk back through that door; to keep walking away and _not_ turn back and beg Harry to forgive him for being such a loudmouthed fool. A fool who'd said things he didn't mean, overly influenced by his hurt feelings.

Except …

Well, there was no doubt in his mind that his feelings had been hurt. That was rather an understatement of the fact, actually. It was true, what Harry had said, that he should have expected it … that he should have realized the depths of Harry's mistrust. That it shouldn't hurt this much.

But _damn_ it. He was a _Dark Creature_, for crying out loud. What on earth could possibly have given Harry the idea that he would care – _at all_ – about the other boy's supposedly dark power? Surely _that_ secret could have been safely shared with him, even if there were so many others that (evidently) could not.

Oh, and it rankled, when realized – not with any concrete proof, but it felt right – that Snape had known; Peter had _certainly_ known, before he had caught even a clue. Peter, he couldn't fault too much – there _were_ certain side effects to sharing the same head-space, he suspected – but _Snape_? That _Snape_ was deemed worthier of trust than himself … that hurt, too.

But regardless of how ill-used he felt (and he certainly did), that wasn't the point. That wasn't why he'd said what he did – at least not there at the last. That came from _him_, from the cool head people always claimed he had. And he _wanted_ to go back in there and beg for forgiveness, claim temporary loss of sanity … but he knew that if he did, he'd only be lying to them both.

He just had to keep walking.

"Are you happy now?" The angry voice struck him, only a moment before a hand landed on his shoulder and jerked him around. Peter stared up at him – along with a veritable catalogue of other physical faults, the rat Animagus was also, well … short. "He took your advice. He left. _Does that make you happy?!_"

Wrapped around Peter's arm, a pointed reminder of the fact that he could no longer change because there was no longer anyone around to change into, the snake hissed – it seemed angry as well.

Fists balled, his friend looked like he would like absolutely nothing better than to hit him. Hard. And for a moment … Remus thought perhaps he'd welcome that pain. But finally, Peter just shook his head and made a deeply disgusted noise. "Oh, never mind. Just – never mind. I'll talk to you again later, when I feel less like beating you into a bloody pulp." And he turned smartly on his heels and headed down the hall, pointedly in the opposite direction Remus had been heading.

_Am I happy?_ Remus sighed and leaned against the wall. _Of course I'm not bloody happy. I miss the stupid spirit already, and it's been less than five minutes. I can't wait to see him again … I guess that makes _me_ the stupid one._

He gazed up towards the ceiling, as if imploring some silent deity. _I'm not happy … but I hope he is. He's back where he belongs now._

_It's for the best. I just have to believe that._

He just wished it wasn't quite so hard.

28 February 2005  
11 September 2012


	20. Chapter 20

Hello, and welcome back to Coexistence. Glad to have you all here and … I'm just going to disclaim and get out of the way, because I don't have anything else interesting to say.

Oh – thank you to everyone who has encouraged me on both the pacing of the story and the speed of the updates. I was truly not fishing for compliments … but it's nice to receive them anyway.

Harry Potter et al. do not belong to me. Everyone believes me, right? Good.

(11/26/2012) Minor edits and fixing formatting.

# # # Chapter 20 # # #

Harry wanted to be alone.

Want was, perhaps, too weak a word. He _needed_ to be alone; needed to be someplace where, even if there were people, none of them acknowledged his existence. If there were people around, people who knew him, people who could _see_ him … well. They'd probably try to cheer him up.

With no real knowledge of why he was feeling the way he was feeling, the causes, no real frame of reference, anything, they'd try to cheer him up. His friends were good that way.

Peter would be good that way, he bet. Remus, too.

And wasn't that a simply brilliant way to make himself feel better, to think about the source of his current problems? Feelings … Angst. Angst was a good word.

It would help, he decided, if he could bring himself to be truly _angry_ at the werewolf. There was all this hurt, all this ill feeling, and nowhere for it to go except to turn back on himself. He knew Remus. Despite – or perhaps _because_ of – the fact that he changed into a ravenous man-eating (if there was ever fresh meat within range, at least) beast once a month, the older boy didn't have a vicious bone in his body.

Leading him to the conclusion that it was a great deal harder to be righteously angry when he _knew_ that Remus wasn't just saying things out of some disgusting fascination with hurting Harry; that he said those things because he thought they needed to be said.

It just really wasn't fair.

And he wanted to dwell on that, at length, without anyone – Merlin, especially without the elder Remus, because wouldn't that be awkward beyond belief? – around to shake him out of his self-pity. Which meant one logical place, he supposed, would be Gryffindor Tower. He could hang around Ron and Hermione with great confidence; they hadn't seen him yet so he was quite sure they wouldn't be able to see him now.

But there was wallowing, and there was wallowing, and slapping himself in the face with the fact that his closest friends – the only people who _did_ know most or all of his secrets, unlike the entire bloody world, the way Remus seemed to think – would not be able to see him if he marched around stark naked, painted blue, with a 'Kiss Me, I'm the Saviour of the Wizarding World' sign on his back … well. He might have been in a decidedly wallowing mood, but he just wasn't quite that masochistic.

Nor was he really in the mood to hang around the graveyard – either one. Again, there was wallowing … and then there was just being plain morbid.

He closed his eyes, trying for that feeling that had allowed him to – he supposed Apparate was as good a word as any – to where Ron was. Apparition without a clearly specified destination was a one-way ticket to suicide in the real world … but it wasn't like there was anything that could hurt him now, was there? And it wasn't like 'take me to where Ron is' had been a proper location specification either. Now if he could just get a handle on it … there! A brief shiver ran through him, but no other significant effects – yet when he reopened his eyes, he found himself in an entirely different place.

Ron's room, back at the Burrow. _Figures._ Not really all that high on his list of places he felt like being at the moment, but the hint of voices coming from down below quelled his intention of moving on immediately. He crept out of the room and toward the banister, then remembered that it wasn't like anyone was around to see him, and whether he was tiptoeing or stomping with all his might, it wasn't like anyone would hear the impact of his feet on the inch and a half of air above the floor.

So, in one of those don't-try-this-at-home-kids moves, he simply vaulted over the railing, making a perfect silent landing on the ground floor.

"Pettigrew? Truly?"

And froze. Whatever he had been expecting to hear, it hadn't been that.

"Yes, our son captured Pettigrew." This, Harry was fairly certain, would be Mr. Weasley, voice torn between pride at his son's accomplishments and anger that Ron would ever be so foolish as to put his life in such blatant danger; the first voice he was equally sure had been Mrs. Weasley. "Sirius is ecstatic – or rather, he would be, if not for … well, you know. He's taking it hard."

"We all are." Mrs. Weasley's voice wavered; there was a rustle of fabric and as Harry peeked around the door, he saw the two of them hugging. "I – Arthur, I _know_ I should be happy that You-Know-Who's gone, and I _am_, but …"

"You'd almost rather have them both be alive?" Mrs. Weasley stiffened, and her husband patted her on the back. "I know, love. I know. I feel the same way … I think a lot of us do."

"It's _criminal_, Arthur. I honestly think that boy thought it was his _duty_ to kill You-Know-Who any way he could. He should have _known_ we would be there to support him … that we'd do the job if we could."

"Now, Molly … it's nothing so bad as that. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"'Now' yourself! _You _may not have been listening when that sweet Hermione girl was talking, but _I_ was. She found it in his belongings, Arthur, a scrap of parchment that gave instructions on how to do that spell he evidently used. _And_ some of the consequences. _And_ notes in his own hand-writing on other potential consequences he'd dug up in his research. He might not have expected the timing, but little Harry was planning from the beginning on using that spell to stop You-Know-Who! Try and make excuses for _that_."

Mr. Weasley sounded defeated. "I can't. As much as I like the boy, I don't – didn't – know him very well. I can only guess at what was going through his mind … and wish that he had trusted us more."

Mrs. Weasley crumpled again. "I miss him, Arthur."

"So do I."

Unable to bear being silent witness to yet more evidence of the unintended consequences of his death, Harry fled.

# # # # #

When he reopened his eyes, they could not immediately tell him anything of note – aside from the fact that it was really quite dark. He would have reached out to try and feel his way around … but, well, that kind of required the ability to touch – one ability he had yet to demonstrate in this form.

Despite the fact that there was no point and would have even less effect, he kicked out anyway; trying to do _something_ to dispel the rising frustration and depression.

"It's like everything I touch goes _wrong_!" He finally burst; speaking instead of just thinking because, well, who was going to be around to listen to him, and even if they were around, what were the chances that they'd actually realize he was there? "Can't be a proper nephew, can't be a proper wizard, God knows I'm not nearly the friend Ron and Hermione deserve … can't be a proper savior of the wizarding world; I can't even bloody _die_ properly!"

And what did _they_ know about him, anyway? They went on and on about how he shouldn't have sacrificed himself, like it was morally wrong for a fourteen-year-old to take out a vicious enemy that showed no compunctions about killing and torturing anyone and everyone in his way. Including fourteen-year-old boy saviors.

Sure, he would have _liked_ to have lived, but he wished they'd be a bit more realistic! Voldemort had about fifty years on him in experience and who knew how much more raw power – everyone expected Harry to be the massively powerful saviour of the wizarding world just because, well, of course your saviour is powerful. How could he not be?

In his day, Tom Riddle had been a brilliant student, Slytherin prefect for two years and then Head Boy. Had he been at all interested in Quidditch, Harry was sure he would have excelled at that, too. Harry, on the other hand –Quidditch was just about _all_ he excelled at. Quidditch and using sheer bloody luck to get out of all sorts of awful scrapes.

The point was – and this was something he felt certain all the adults had missed – he _had_ been appointed saviour. And that's not just something that goes away; the ravenous public never even considers cutting you a bit of slack because you had just barely mastered drooling at the time you allegedly saved the world.

He had been appointed and then left to his own devices. If Ron's parents were really so serious about protecting him, where had they been all those other times he had gotten himself into serious trouble and escaped through nothing more than pure luck? Standing on the sidelines with everyone else, ignoring the signs (honestly, since when is an eleven-year-old better at putting the clues together than a whole host of adults?) when the bad stuff was going down, and then cooing over his abused body after the fact, that's where.

With that track record, he really wished someone would explain to him _why_ they seemed to think that this time would have been any different. Perhaps, he supposed cynically, because this time all that was left to coo over was an urn of ashes.

"No, it's because they care for you. And people who care, well … we occasionally have problems seeing the real issues, instead of just what we want to see. Until something shocking enough happens that we are forced out of our dream world."

Harry whipped around, shielding his eyes out of habit at the unexpected brightness of the lantern, even though he supposed his retinas were long past the point where he needed to worry about burning them out. A bit embarrassed, he wondered, "How much of that was out loud?"

Bill Weasley – for that was who held the lantern; it made Harry wonder if perhaps he was just fated to meet Weasleys today – said, "I'd guess most of it; I got here about the time you started sticking your feet halfway through the wall."

Now he felt even more embarrassed. "Er …"

"Don't worry about it." The 'cool' Weasley shrugged. "Everyone needs to let off a little steam now and then. I'd even be willing to lend an ear – although I've got a few last vaults to check out before I can really take a sit down to listen properly."

Harry briefly considered fleeing again. Maybe this time he'd land someplace legitimately deserted. "Oh, that's okay, you don't have to …" The lantern flashed directly in his face again.

"Let me rephrase that." Bill said. "From what little I heard, it sounds like you have a lot riding on you, and it sounds like death hasn't made it at all easier. I _want_ to hear about it. I would like to get to know you better, Harry. Listening to you … I admit before, I had always labeled you 'Boy Who Lived' and 'Ron's best friend' and left it at that. But that's not really fair to you. So, if you are willing to wait about ten more minutes, I really _would_ like to talk."

There was something strange in Bill's voice, but Harry was helpless to figure out what it was. "I'd like to get to know you better, since I never bothered to do so back when you were alive. Call it my own bit of penance for not being there when you needed me."

Harry was left speechless – which Bill evidently took as consent. "Good. Thanks."

It wasn't until several minutes later that it occurred to Harry to ask, "Wait … you can see and hear me?"

Bill looked up only briefly from his inspection – both the lock involved and the inspecting process looking fiendishly complicated to Harry's untrained eye – and spared only a distracted, "Well, of course. Can't everyone?"

# # # # #

Bill's office – which is where he ended up leading the still-confused ghost – was small but surprisingly comfortable. Harry actually spared a moment to miss being corporeal – the chair across from Bill's desk really did look inviting.

"How's the public taking it? My death, I mean." Harry asked, as he settled for hovering about an inch above the comfortable-looking chair.

Bill huffed a sigh – the sort that would have sent his fringe flying upwards had he had any. "There's been a huge uproar, of course. Sad as I am to admit it, it certainly does lend a certain credence to your 'saviour' theory – people are acting like chickens with their heads cut off, wondering how the wizarding world will survive without you."

Harry smiled mirthlessly. "Rather a large sea change from when they were all bound and convinced I was stark raving mad, eh?" He shrugged. "It'll survive the same way it did all those years before I was born. Either they'll muddle it out somehow, or they'll pick some other poor average-but-lucky child and toss the saviour title onto him next. Anything to shift the responsibility for actually doing something away from themselves."

"Don't you think that's a bit harsh?"

Harry leveled a Look at the eldest Weasley.

"Okay, perhaps not. Not everyone is like that, though."

"Not everyone, no. But entirely too many of them."

"At least you have Headmaster Dumbledore on your side. He wouldn't do that to you."

Harry snorted. "Dumbledore is a paranoid old man who wouldn't know good intentions if they bit him on the arse."

Bill's eyebrows raised. For a moment, he looked about to protest in Dumbledore's defense, but eventually just said. "Now _that _sounds like a story. What happened?"

Harry paused. Contemplated. Finally shrugged, figuring 'in for a penny, in for a pound'. "Well, there's a bit of background you need to know first … first off, when I died, I didn't exactly come back _here_ immediately …"

# # # # #

"Wow." Bill said when Harry finished the abbreviated version of his story. "You really _have_ been through a lot recently, haven't you?" Elbows on the desk surface, he rested his chin on his hands. "I admit I don't really understand why you refused to tell everyone your last name, either. It sounds like it would have been really helpful – especially in convincing the Headmaster that you were sincere."

"That's part of it, actually." Harry made a face. "That would be like taking the easy way out. And part of me would always suspect – well, really, outright _know_ – that the only reason he trusted me was because I'm a Potter, and of _course_ Potters can't be anything but Light."

"And that's not right, either." Bill said slowly. "I'll agree to that." He lifted his chin just enough to release one hand to engage in a 'go on' motion. "And the other reasons?"

Harry sighed, resisting the urge to curl up with his knees against his chest. He really did _not_ need to look any more vulnerable and defensive than he did already. "That's … a bit harder to explain. It's … there I'm free to _not_ be a Potter. And I don't want to give that up."

He raised his hand. "I know, I know, 'What's wrong with being a Potter?'." Bill closed his mouth. "Being a Potter means that I became the Boy-Who-Lived. They already know about James and Lily dying; if it came out that I was their son, that would raise question of how I was still alive, which means that the whole Boy-Who-Lived mess would probably come out, too."

He ticked off a second finger. "Being a Potter earned me the hatred of my aunt, uncle, and cousin, which in turn had a pretty big impact on the happiness – or lack thereof – of my childhood." Another hand raised. "Please. Spare me the platitudes. It's over and done with and nothing has scarred me too horribly."

Third finger. "Yes, at first I was flattered when everyone told me how much like my dad I was. But they did it too much. There's a point beyond which I'd like to be known as 'Harry', not as 'James Potter's son and isn't it just so amazing how much like his father he is?'." A pause. "Besides which, now I've actually met the guy. And if he grew up anything like his teenage years, I don't actually see it as a compliment."

"I'm sure they meant it as one." Bill offered; there wasn't really anything he could do to refute the rest of it. "I know I've only ever heard good of the man." A pause. "Except from Snape." A shared grin.

Harry had tired of ranting and explaining for the moment; had he still had a corporeal throat he suspected he would have been thoroughly parched. Bill, for his part, seemed to have decided that he'd forbear with asking any more questions for the moment; he seemed to be idly fiddling with some paperwork.

A question that had been percolating in the back of Harry's brain slowly moved forward and made itself known. "Bill … do you know if there was a Claudius Malfoy, in this timeline?"

The redhead stilled, then slowly put his pen down, hand shaking with suppressed emotion. "… Yes." He whispered. "And not a day goes by that I don't …" His fists clenched until the skin around the knuckles were white.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

The tension did not decrease in the slightest. "I don't … I never found out. I think my father knows … but if he does, he never saw fit to mention that to _me_. After all," and here's where Bill's share of bitterness found its way in, "he was only a _Malfoy_. And who 'decent' cares about them?"

"When was it?" Harry's voice was quiet; it was intuitively obvious that here he was treading on uncertain ground.

"My third year. Easter." Bill stared through the desk, a haunted look to his eyes. "He went home … we were planning on going together, and hang convention, but then I … I don't even remember, anymore, what happened, but I ended up not going after all." His voice, still that rasped whisper from before, sank low enough to where Harry was hard-pressed to hear it at all. "And he never came back."

They shared a moment of silence for a young Ravenclaw who had, most likely, been only one of many to fall afoul of the Dark Lord – and pay with their life.

"That's why I had to stop him, any way I could." Harry said quietly, after the silence had held long enough. "For people like Claudius, and Professor Snape, and Cedric … anyone his corrosive influence has touched."

"You may not believe it." Bill replied, just as quietly, "But there are other people who believe as you do, and who would go to equally great lengths to do what you did." _I am one of them _was not stated outright, but the implication was obvious even to Harry.

"But they weren't there, and I was." Harry replied. "They didn't know the spell, and I did."

"And that, I think, is why they feel so guilty. Because they think they should have been the ones standing in your place; they think yours is another innocent life lost needlessly."

Harry considered that for a moment. He had already made his protests; there seemed to be little point in repeating them. Finally, he said slowly, "… So what?" He paused, as if to gather his thoughts. "Perhaps my life is innocent, although I hope you will allow me to beg to differ. But in the end, _I_ made the choice to spend it. It was a choice made entirely of my own free will. Even if they had been there, I would probably have still made that choice."

He paused. "And I think that's the point. It was _my_ choice. And whatever they say, I think that really, the only person that should make my choices for me is me. Whether it's how much I study or when and how I die … that's my choice."

Harry snorted suddenly. "Besides … Voldemort had just been resurrected, I was surrounded by his loyal Death Eaters, was injured from the maze, not to mention dripping all over the place from where Pettigrew drew my blood …" out of a sort of gruesome habit, he rubbed at the knotty scar that still remained even in his ghostly form "… what are the chances that I would have actually survived, anyway?"

"As you yourself said, you've gotten out of some pretty bad scrapes before." Bill pointed out. "But I guess we'll never know, now, what life might have been like had you lived. Or if you would have."

"No … no, I don't." Harry agreed. "But, knowing what I know now … it's amazing there, Bill. I wish you could see it. I mean, yes, Voldemort still exists, but it's so much easier to forget … and the people …"

"One person in particular, perhaps?" Harry had been doing a good job of staunchly avoiding Bill's eyes, but his voice expressed the same … sympathy? gentleness? … warmth as Harry suspected his eyes would have.

"I – that is …" He didn't know how well ghosts could blush, but he figured at the moment he was certainly making his best effort. "It's not …"

"Don't say 'like that'." Bill interrupted, suddenly serious. "I intentionally never said anything about what it was or was not. It's obvious to anyone that Remus is someone special to you, Harry. Don't demean that."

"I … you're right." Harry smiled weakly. "He is. And not knowing … I mean, I'm sure he hates me now. And I can't bear that." He pressed his hands halfway through his head before regaining control and making a pretense of rubbing his temples, wishing he could at least touch _himself_. "He was absolutely right, you know. I should have trusted him … with that, with everything. But it's so hard … and the worst thing is … I still don't want to tell him.

"It's like … if I pretend long enough and hard enough that I'm not Potter, that I'm not the Boy-Who-Lived, that all I am is a dead boy named Harry who may have done his part to save the world, but isn't really all that remarkable otherwise … I keep hoping maybe one day I'll wake up and it'll be the truth."

"I sincerely doubt that he hates you." Harry's head shot up, but he managed to remember to avoid Bill's eyes by a hair's breadth. "I have no doubt that he was hurt – to be fair, I'm sure you would have been too, even if you had known he was keeping secrets from you. And people who are hurt often lash out in ways they regret later."

Harry shook his head. "You don't understand. He was … so cold. At first, yes, I could see him as having been lashing out. But – no, he seemed to really believe I ought to leave. He really … didn't want me there anymore."

"Over that small a matter? I doubt it, Harry. I'm sure he was just angry and hurt … he's probably sitting there right now, hoping that you'll come back soon so that he can apologize to you for being such an unfeeling bastard."

"He's not unfeeling! Or a bastard!" Harry protested indignantly.

Bill laughed, and ruffled the space where Harry's hair would have been – not a terribly effective gesture, but Harry appreciated the thought. "I know that and you know that … but this is another of those things about people. We tend to be inclined to believe the worst about ourselves."

Looking back on what he knew of Remus and his self-confidence issues, Harry had to agree with that particular assessment at least.

"I think you should go back." Harry tensed. "Look at me, Harry. From what you've said so far, that seems to be the trigger."

"But …"

"You're never going to know if you don't go back there and ask." Bill pointed out. "And this may be the time into which you were born … but you and I both know where your heart lies. Go to him. Ask him why he said the things he said. Tell him …" Seeing the look of instinctive refusal on Harry's face, Bill's tone gentled even further.

"Tell him what you just told me, about the young dead boy named Harry. He'll understand, I think. If he's even half as special a person you think he is … if he's anything like the Remus I know in this time … I think he'll understand."

Something clicked, and it occurred to Harry that this sounded a lot like the advice he had given a younger Bill on the subject of Claudius Malfoy. Not exactly the same, perhaps not even as similar as it seemed – but the perceived similarity caused a bubble of hilarity to rise in his throat.

He was probably grinning like a fool, and like a fool he had no real idea why. _You can dish it out, but you can't take it, can you? _And perhaps that sniping inner comment was what firmed his resolve, as he nodded once.

_Tell me to go back where I belong? Where my friends, where the people I trust are? Well, too bad for you, Remus … I may have friends here, though we have been forced apart, but you're my friend too. Like it or not, you're stuck with me now. And I'm going to prove it. There's no getting away from me now._

A new blaze of resolve lit in his heart (how cliché that sounded … but was there any other word for the heated feeling in his chest?), and he straightened. "Thanks, Bill. For everything."

"Thank _you_, Harry, for sharing your time with me."

The triumphant background music, had there been any, would have faltered, as Harry fought embarrassment at the sincere tone in Bill's voice.

"So you're going to do it, then?" Fingers brushed through the space where his chin would have been, and both of them fought a sudden chill; this time it was Bill's cheeks who reddened slightly in embarrassment. "Good luck."

Of his own free will and entirely intentionally, Harry's head rose and he met Bill's eyes squarely, clear green to murky brown.

_Ready or not, here I come!_

# # # # #

"Percy's gotten sick, again, and Charlie's down with the chicken pox …" He waved his hands in broad gestures. "Dad's taking off work, but with Mum's latest pregnancy being the hardest on her yet, it's …"

"You feel like you ought to be at home helping. I understand." The blond looked past him, his eyes sad and oddly blank. There was a pause, long and uncomfortable and waited. "Well … another time, perhaps."

"Yeah …" The silence stretched. "… I'll see you after break."

"… Yeah." In a flurry of controlled movement, the blond turned to leave.

There was a knot in his throat, and a growing sick feeling to his stomach. _If you let him go now, this is the last time you'll ever see him again._ He didn't know the source of this feeling, not yet, but his belief in it was absolute. And before such a feeling, what else could he possibly do?

"_Claudi! Wait!" _ Bill Weasley yelled, running to catch up with his friend.

"What?" The Ravenclaw asked, stopping his movement away, although he did not turn to look back.

"I … you know my family is important to me. But you're important too." Bill grinned at his friend's back. "I ought to go home … but with my dad there, they should be fine. They won't be happy with me – but," he flicked at his faux earring, enjoying the way it jingled in his ear, "it's not like that's exactly a new thing either."

"So …" He sidled around in front of his friend, who looked like he had just barely decided against turning away again, and peered desperately at his friend's face for any sign of comprehension. Bill somehow managed to keep on grinning, though he felt less and less in the mood to, as the blond's face retained its closed expression. "… I guess what I'm trying to say is … is the offer still open?"

And slowly, Claudius Malfoy began to smile back.

9 April 2005  
11 September 2012

**The AU issue:** The question has come up quite frequently as to what the relationship between the past and future worlds is. As this is something that may very well not be discussed in the story proper, I thought I'd soliloquize a bit now.

The past may or may not have been the original past of the present time. I'm guessing not, myself … James didn't look like he was planning on having a crisis of conscience and rescuing Snape anytime soon to me. But regardless of that, the ripples Harry has created due to his presence have branched it off quite firmly. (Ugh … a diagram would be so helpful right now …) And it is a branching off; the original past remains undisturbed and trundles its merry way on to the original present.

Eventually, this changed past will make its own way towards becoming a changed future, and the two will continue to exist in parallel, only the presence of Harry in both giving any clue to their original kinship.

(Short answer: No, nothing Harry does in the past affects the present.)


	21. Chapter 21

(11/26/2012) Over seven and a half years since I last posted to this fic, and I'm finishing it at last. If anyone remains who's still interested in it and actually reads this far – I have no words to express my appreciation for your patience.

I hope it turns out to be worth the wait.

# # # Chapter 21 # # #

Bill Weasley had seen Lucius Malfoy before. From a distance. It was one of those things that came of being Claudius' friend … even though they were usually far from each other by the time it came for parents to be picking their children up from the Express' platform, he and Claudi had long since developed a sort of sixth sense towards each other – no matter how large the crowd, they always seemed to be able to find each other.

… One could, of course, ascribe that to the fact that neither Bill's red head nor Claudius' silvery-blond one was precisely the sort of coloring that tended to cause one to fade into the background. But personally, Bill liked his theory better. Whatever the reason, when looking around the train station for his friend he also often caught a glimpse of said friend's father. This, however, was his first time seeing the man up close.

He was … intimidating, if that was the word for it. Despite how Dark Bill knew the man to be – and, having lived all his life around his father, he had heard rather a lot about that subject – there was no denying that the older man possessed Presence.

Between that and the significant height difference, it was almost … no, entirely overwhelming. And fascinating, in the sort of way – not to be trite, but it _was_ the first metaphor that came to mind – a mouse might find a snake fascinating in its last moments of life.

Currently, the man in question wore an expression that Bill tentatively identified as "paternally indulgent" (tentatively because his only real experience with that particular expression was from his father, who went about the matter far less superciliously than Lucius Malfoy).

"Claudius, my boy. How good to see you."

"A pleasure to see you as well, Father." A strange transformation seemed to have come over his friend; gone was the boy his age with whom he had shared scraped knees and late-night library raids; replacing him was a strange automaton that looked and acted, he supposed, like a 'real Malfoy'. "And this is –"

"You brought a friend home with you?" The barest hint of displeasure colored the Malfoy patriarch's tone; it was obvious he had expected nothing of the sort.

Drawing on reserves he didn't know he possessed, Bill straightened and bowed slightly. "William Weasley. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." With all the pleasure filling this corner of the room, you'd think the atmosphere would be a bit less icy.

"A Weasley." The displeasure was more than evident, now.

"Claudius and I are quite well acquainted with each other." Bill wondered what on earth he could do to avert the disaster he could just feel looming.

"He and I have a great deal in common." Claudius added quietly, throwing Bill a quick apologetic glance – why? It was certainly true.

"Curious." Lucius drew the word out into a considering hiss. "Then, the diary I sent you earlier this year?"

Somehow, Bill didn't think _"I liked the diary until it possessed me with the spirit of a younger Dark Lord; these days my fondest memories of it are watching it burn to ash"_ was quite the response Claudius' father was interested in receiving.

"Oh! That diary, was it originally yours, sir? Claudius gave it to me, and I must say I've enjoyed it terribly. Thank you, sir." He was beginning to worry that he had been laying on the 'sir's a bit too strongly, but Claudius' father did not seem terribly suspicious.

And for some reason, that did the trick. The displeasure faded away and something strangely like a smile made its way onto the Slytherin's mask. "I see. Well met, young William." He reached over and shook Bill's hand lightly – evidently he was not well enough met to entirely erase the distastefulness of shaking hands with a lowborn blood traitor. Sparing a quick glance, Bill caught Claudi's mask cracking slightly with relief.

Glancing back up at the father, he could have sworn he caught the urbane older man … winking at him.

But that was absurd, wasn't it?

# # # # #

When Harry opened his eyes, it was to a familiar – but in this case rather unwelcome – sight. He sat up and looked around, idly brushing the dirt from the front of his robe as he took in the sight of the Weasley house and gardens, looking as always a strange combination of utterly bizarre and carefully tended. "Well, that didn't work right." Using the support of a nearby fencepost, he pulled himself to his feet.

This brought to his attention several things. First, that his robe had existed to have dust brushed off it. Second, that his hand had existed to exert enough force on the fencepost to help him to his feet. Third, that his feet were planted quite solidly on the ground now.

He looked at his hands in amazement, slapping the fencepost to verify that it was indeed there and he was indeed touching it (and as a bonus, his hand even stung and reddened a bit), before turning to stare around the yard a second time. "What in the world is going on?"

Silence greeted him – unusual, for a place he'd always associated with movement and noise. _Maybe no one's home? _

He leaned against the fencepost, eyeing the house. Going up and knocking on the door, to see if anyone actually _was_ home, seemed to be the next logical step. On the other hand, when he thought of seeing Mr. and Mrs. Weasley again after eavesdropping on their conversation – of knowing their real reactions even if they tried to put a brave face on for his benefit – he couldn't quite make himself take that step.

He eyed his hand again, flexing it idly. _On the other other hand, the fact that I'm corporeal right now is a strong sign that it's unlikely to be the Mr. and Mrs. Weasley who are acquainted with me personally who reside in that house. _He closed his eyes and poked around his mind carefully, not entirely sure what he was doing or whether it would be of any use at all. Eventually, he gave up and reopened his eyes. _Well, either whoever I'm possessing currently is being _very_ quiet, or I am actually currently alone in my head. Which is … kind of weird, actually._

He shook his head. _I can't believe I almost miss being forced to share headspace with other people. Being dead must be driving me nutters. _A fond smile. _Peter and Severus were pretty fun, though. And even the others weren't _so_ bad. Usually._

… Which was really just trying to distract himself from the fact that he was still leaning against the fence post, just out of sight of the Burrow's front door.

_First things first. Let's try to find someone more likely to have some idea what's going on. Assuming I _can_ still do my little Apparition-like trick. _He considered that notion, and quickly came up blank when he tried to think of any authority figures in the past that he'd actually be willing to talk to, much less who might have any insights. _If I were back home, I could try Dumbledore, but … fat chance. _

Thoughts of Hogwarts naturally turned to thoughts of Remus, and he bit his lip. _I really should go do what Bill suggested, and have a talk with him. _He glanced towards the Burrow again and smiled wryly. _Though if there's any_ other_ conversation I'm less eager to have …_ He snorted. _Well, I suppose talking with this Dumbledore about my last name and past still top that category. _

He sighed, then straightened, throwing back his shoulders. "Well, are you a Gryffindor or aren't you?" He mocked himself.

Besides … hard feelings aside, it would be _good_ to see Remus again. By Harry's count it hadn't been more than a few hours (not counting the time spent unconscious on the Weasleys' front lawn, since he had no idea how long that had been – and come to think of it, why hadn't anyone come by and noticed him in that period of time? Was he still invisible despite now being apparently corporeal?), but it seemed like it had been far longer. And given the way these jumps usually worked, for Remus it had probably been weeks if not months since their argument.

He closed his eyes again, falling into that state of mind he'd used several times before, ruthlessly shoving aside the worry that he wouldn't be able to do it this time – that it was something specific to his only-visible-to-certain people ghost form in his present time. _Then again, I never tried to do it in the past – too busy possessing people. So I don't know that it _won't_ work, either. _

He concentrated, hard, on Remus and Hogwarts, and released that twist of will that insisted 'take me _there_!'. Yet even before he reopened his eyes, he had a sinking feeling that he knew what he would see.

The Burrow, still as comfortingly bizarre as always. For a very brief moment, he had thought he'd felt something resembling the coiled sense of tense power that seemed to … propel him to his destination when he'd used this trick before. But then it had dissipated, so quickly and so thoroughly that he wondered if he'd simply imagined it.

Three more tries netted the same results, and at last he gave up, shoulders slumping slightly. _I guess reconciliation with Remus will have to wait until another time. Which means …_

Forcing himself to act with a determination he didn't entirely feel, he pushed himself away from the fence and started the short trudge up to the house, aware but not entirely capable of forcing himself not to drag his feet.

Slowed progress or no, he still found himself – far too soon for his tastes – standing in front of the door, hand raised, hesitating.

Another wry grin. "… Are you a Gryffindor or aren't you?" He asked himself again.

And, before he could succumb to any more second thoughts, he knocked.

Silence.

He strained his ears for any sign that the house might be occupied, its occupants simply not having made it to the door yet. Still nothing – and in fact, he suddenly realized that it wasn't just the house, but the entire surrounding area that was silent. No cries of birds – no birds or other wildlife at all, that he'd seen – not even the gentle background rustle of wind through the grass and trees. Well, and no wind, either. He shot a concerned look back towards the yard, to the handful of small trees that now seemed unnaturally still.

Then shook his head. _Worry about it later._ And knocked again, slightly louder.

This time when he listened, he caught just the faintest hint of sound – a short, flat sound, like someone had bumped into something – and plastered a smile onto his face that he hoped looked friendly and harmless. _Though without a wand, 'harmless' is pretty close to the truth, plain and simple._

The door jerked open. "What do you –?" a familiar voice snarled irritably, before his eyes caught up with his mouth. "You!"

Harry's first reaction was shock and the desire to _get away_, but before he could as much as take a step away, that was swamped by anger. Almost without realizing what he was doing, he'd fisted the older, taller boy's cloak in his hand and pushed him back against the hallway wall. "What the hell are _you_ doing here?" He hissed. "And what did you _do _to them? Haven't you messed with their lives enough?"

(A very small corner of his mind thought he should perhaps be more afraid; angering this man was generally not a bright idea. Another small corner of his mind pointed out that he _had_, after all, killed him already. Twice. Three times, if he got to count his older self.)

Behind the two, the door fell shut, abruptly cutting off the sunlight (or had the sun been shining? Now that he thought about it, Harry wasn't entirely sure); the room seemed dim in comparison for the moments before Harry's eyes adjusted.

The older boy stared down at him with disdain, as coolly as though he had not been gaping mere moments before, apparently utterly unconcerned with the fact that Harry still had his cloak in a death grip. "It truly is irritating to be continually accused of crimes that I haven't committed." He remarked.

An increase to the glint in the other's eyes (and once again he was struck by the similarity to his own) was the only warning he was given – too little, too late – before the other boy swept his hand up, dislodging Harry's hands as casually as swatting a fly, grabbing hold of one of his arms in passing with a grip that was just shy of painful, and swung the two of them around, hand pinning Harry's captured arm – his wand hand, of course, not that it was much good to him without a wand anyway – to the wall.

(That second corner of his mind allowed as how both those other times he'd had his hands on the other boy's weak point and a weapon to destroy it with, neither of which was true in this case, and tentatively registered its reluctant agreement with the first corner.)

He looked down at Harry, the light above and behind him casting his face in shadow. "And really, I think that should be my line." Tom said. "Both 'what are you doing here?' and 'haven't you messed with my life enough?' are … quite fitting, in fact."

Preoccupied with his struggles to escape the taller boy's grip – an attempt to lash out with his free hand had simply resulted in that being captured as well – it took a moment for Tom's words to sink in. Harry stopped struggling, genuinely confused. "… I'm pretty sure that as a friend to the family" _at least I will be in fifteen years or so_ "I've got a great deal more right to be here than someone who desires nothing more than to kill or possess them."

Tom's grip loosened – not much, but enough – and Harry gave in to his initial impulse, wrenching himself away and putting several feet of space between them. Irritation sparked briefly through the mild puzzlement on his face, but strangely, Tom seemed to decide not to follow. "You appear to be laboring under a misunderstanding." He finally observed, still eyeing Harry strangely.

"I don't know where this place is or who it belongs to in the real world – though I have some strong suspicions, and seen from that perspective you are likely correct. However, _this _in particular" he gestured idly to the surrounding area, "is not the real world, but is in fact simply a construct built by William Weasley's subconscious to trap what shreds of myself remained when you were so unkind as to destroy the rest of me." He smiled insincerely. "And I would say you have as little right to be in little William's head as I do – arguably, less, given that I at least was invited in initially."

Harry became aware that he had continued to back away when said back ran into something – a chest of drawers, perhaps, given that he could feel the edge a bit above his waist, and the bits beneath that he had run into were uneven. He resisted the urge to glance behind himself to verify that he hadn't damaged anything valuable, given that taking his eyes off the younger incarnation of Voldemort was probably listed in the thesaurus as a synonym for 'bad idea'. Distracted, it had taken him longer than usual to process the other boy's words; when their meaning penetrated, he blinked. "What?"

Tom treated him to a decidedly unimpressed look. "I'm trapped in the Weasley child's mind. And now you, my destroyer, are apparently now trapped here with me." He smiled again, this time in a way that looked like it might actually be attempting sincerity. Or at least the appearance thereof. "I must admit, I am quite interested in hearing any additional information you'd care to share about how that came to pass."

Harry shot him a disgruntled glare. _Condescending tone: _not_ necessary. I suppose I can't really say I'm surprised, though. _ "How do you know? It seems perfectly real to me." He slapped the wall to his right, just within reaching distance, and once again experienced a small thrill at the fact that he could actually _feel_ his skin's reaction to the abuse. "… And why do you think I'd be willing to tell you anything?"

Tom shrugged. "Because unless you know some trick you're not telling, you're as stuck here as I am. And however much you hate me – for whatever reason, justified or not, though seriously, I'm pretty sure I've never met you before so I really don't know how I've managed to offend you _that _much – I suspect you'll find soon enough that human interaction is more interesting than trying to hide from me and sulk."

Harry gaped, not even knowing where to start. "… Sulk?" _So of course I pick the least important part. _

Tom rolled his eyes – to be fair, that was about all the response that his response justified. "As for proof of where we are – well, if the fact that I'm standing here talking to you when you should know as well as I did that you destroyed me isn't enough proof, come on." He jerked his head briefly behind him, then turned on his heels and strode back down the hall, apparently blithely unconcerned that by doing so he'd presented Harry with his unprotected back.

_Then again, he's already proven he can physically overpower me with insulting ease. And if he has his wand, still – do wands even exist inside other people's heads? – that just gives him that much more of an advantage._

Harry eyed that back, considering options. _I could attack again – but we saw how well _that_ worked out. I could turn away, go barricade myself in Ron's room or something – does that even exist yet, if this is a mental construct of a thirteen-year-old Bill who only has two brothers, not five and a sister? –… and then do … what, exactly? Keep trying to leave? That worked _so_ well before, after all. And if _he_ hasn't been able to escape … _He may have violent arguments with the man's goals in life, methods, and morals in general, but even Harry had to admit that Tom Riddle was far from unintelligent. Given that he himself was far from being a genius, chances were quite good that if Tom couldn't figure out a way to escape, he wouldn't be able to either.

He sighed, shook his head, and followed. _… Or I could give in to my curiosity and find out where he's leading me. Cautiously. _

He didn't have long to wait. As he'd remembered, the hallway led to the kitchen, which opened out into the dining room, the table looking queerly stunted with only four chairs – five, if one included the high-chair propped at one end. They must have bought a larger one once their family outgrew this one. Also strangely empty – it just didn't seem right to see the table when it wasn't covered in food and surrounded by happy chatter. He tried not to let it bother him, these little changes, but it was difficult to put them out of his mind entirely when so much of the rest of the house matched his memories. Like a few out-of-tune notes in a familiar melody.

Then his eyes slid past the disconcerting table to the sitting room just beyond, where Tom stood, hands in pockets, looking at something that, due to the way the walls were situated, was just around the corner and out of sight. Again reminding himself that 'cautiously' was the theme, Harry skirted around the table – if nothing else, its smaller size meant that the dining area was a bit less cramped – touching a nostalgic finger to it as he passed, then walked on into the living room, turning towards the direction in which Tom had been gazing.

_What on Earth is that?!_

In place of where he thought he remembered the fireplace, framed by two windows that looked out on the yard, was a gigantic – well, window, he supposed, though it was larger than any other window he'd ever seen, and what it looked out onto was most decidedly not the yard.

It looked, in fact, very much like a view of Platform 9¾ - though again, there were little disconcerting differences here and there that kept reminding him that he was still around twenty years in the past. And then there was the big disconcerting difference: the centerpiece of this window's view was roughly the upper half of what was quite clearly recognizable as a younger Lucius Malfoy.

Sound seemed to be included, too – the distant rumble of other trains and the indistinct murmur of a thousand other conversations happening simultaneously drifted through the air, quiet enough to ignore, but clearly audible if you thought to pay attention.

"Why is _he_ here?" Harry asked, glaring at one of the few people he hated almost as much as Voldemort.

"Picking up his son, presumably." Tom said idly, and Harry noticed that yes, Claudius – for the miniature near-clone of Malfoy still wearing his Ravenclaw-badged Hogwarts robe could hardly be anyone else – stood a few feet to the side of and a bit behind his father, face a bit pale (or maybe that was his natural color), determinedly blank, and eyes flickering back and forth between his father and – the window.

_Bill_. Harry recognized, finally reluctantly willing to accept Tom's words as truth. _We must be seeing out of Bill's eyes. Somehow. _

"The more interesting question," Tom continued in that same idle tone, "is what is _William_ doing here? As reluctant as I am to associate with yet more Weasleys, I would have expected him to go join his family, not come over and make nice with a man who not only is an enemy of his family, but who I would expect him to regard as a personal enemy, given – well, _me_."

Harry frowned, drifting closer. _Yes, come to think of it – especially given that I know that in my home time, Bill _didn't_ go with Claudius. So what changed? The diary? Bill probably would have mentioned it if he had encountered it in his own past. But … I'd think that having been possessed by an evil magical object_ – he slanted a glance at Tom – _would have made him _more_ likely to want to avoid the Malfoys, not less. _

He frowned deeper, something niggling at him, but he couldn't quite place what. Something about … chicken pox?

"_Well, I see it is just as well that I had a private Floo room reserved."_ Lucius Malfoy said, his voice resonating throughout the room, seeming to come from all directions, though at a thankfully normal enough volume that it wasn't completely overwhelming. _"Come."_

He turned on his heel and strode away, apparently not caring whether or how fast anyone followed. Their window slid slightly – a turn of the head? – to center on Claudius, whose mask cracked just enough to show a wry smile before he shrugged and turned to follow. Their window bounced, shooting forward faster than what Harry would have guessed constituted walking speed – a quick dash? – then slowed to what seemed like a more normal pace – and, thankfully, less shaking – as it drew even with Claudius. He grimaced. "Is it always that …?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Tom shrugged. "That's pretty typical – be glad you didn't have to watch him running late for class. You get used to it."

_Hopefully I won't be here long enough for that to become a problem._ Harry thought, though even to himself he didn't have a whole lot of confidence in the assertion. _Hopefully I'll find _some_ way out._

"Can you affect things at all?" Harry asked, not even sure what he hoped the answer would be. On the one hand, 'yes' would mean that Harry would have a way to communicate with Bill, to maybe work out a way between them to get him out of this trap and out of Bill's head entirely. On the other hand, that would also mean that Tom would have similar access to Bill's thoughts – and for all that he had been, for the most part, remarkably polite so far, Harry still didn't trust the younger incarnation of Voldemort any farther than he could throw him. Without magic. While incorporeal.

"No." Tom said, tone colored with a hint of frustration. "Well, occasionally if I yell loud enough it seems almost like he's received the comment as some sort of subconscious hint. It only seems to work part of the time, though, so I suspect he simply happened to have independently decided at that moment to take the course of action I was proposing."

"Ah." Harry sighed in mixed relief and disappointment.

"_Last chance to back out."_ Claudius murmured. The window swung from where it had been focused mostly forward to look at the Ravenclaw. _"You really _don't_ have to come with me. Between the baby being sick and Charlie having the pox –" _Harry started. _How did I know that?_ _ "– you _know_ your parents would really appreciate the help. I'll manage somehow – and we can trade stories when we get back." _

The window shifted down to look at Claudius' hand and Bill's own, separated by several inches until Bill reached out and grabbed his friend's hand, view swinging back up to center on Claudius' shocked face. _"I made my decision, and I plan to stand by it."_ His voice resounded quietly, sounding somehow closer than that of either of the Malfoys – though of course, that made sense. _"And – I know this is silly – but I have this strange feeling that if I let you go now, I'll never see you again." _

Claudius' eyes flicked downwards to where their hands were probably still joined – it would really have been far more convenient if they had been given a more panoramic view instead of simply what Bill's eyes could see – and then back up, as a light blush dusted his cheeks. _"Very well."_ He sighed. _"Far be it from me to interfere between a Gryiffindor and his plan. Just – be careful, will you?" _A grimace. _"You're not the only one who has a bad feeling about this vacation."_

He moved away a bit – far enough to see that his hand was now empty. Harry couldn't see Bill's face, but the grin was clear in his voice. _"Don't worry so much. We'll make it through – and make it back – together." _

Claudius shook his head, smiling wryly. _"Gryffindors."_

They both turned their attention back forward, speeding up their steps in an effort to close the distance between themselves and Lucius Malfoy – who, if nothing else, was at least difficult to lose, regardless of how crowded the station was otherwise.

No longer transfixed by the conversation, Harry turned part of his attention towards Tom, surprising a mildly disgusted look on his face before he appeared to notice he was being watched and turn to look at Harry in turn, face smoothing to a more neutral expression. _Is he trying to … make nice? _Harry attempted to shove that thought away, unsure whether to be more disturbed by it, or by the fact that it was actually … sort of _working_. They'd been interacting for all of maybe twenty minutes, tops, but already he found that he could forget for minutes at a time that this was the younger version of the man who would ruin his life. When he'd been focused on Bill and Claudius' conversation, he'd almost forgotten the other boy was even there to begin with.

Perhaps that would explain why he said what he did. "Did anything … weird happen when I arrived?"

The look on his face turned rather worrisomely sharp, but Tom seemed to be giving the question his sincere consideration. "Obviously I don't know when, precisely, you arrived." He said. "But if it was … hm, probably a little less than ten minutes before you knocked on the door?"

Harry squinted. "I didn't think I stood around for that long, but I've been known to lose track of time before. I'd be willing to believe it. Why? I take it something did happen?"

Tom appeared to consider for a moment, then jerked his head towards the corridor from which they had come. "Did you notice anything … different when you were stand outside?" A pause. "Well, given that you were convinced that this was a real house and I'd done something to its occupants, I suppose that question answers itself."

Harry did his best not to bridle at the condescending tone, but couldn't entirely erase the offense from his voice. "I noticed that it was awfully quiet – no animals, not even the wind rustling the trees. If that's what you mean."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "That's certainly part of it. If you had tried walking down the path towards where I presume some sort of quaint little village is, you'd have barely gotten halfway the bottom of the hill before finding yourself wrapped back around, approaching the house from the opposite side. It looks very broad, but in reality the bubble I'm – well, I suppose I should say _we're_ – trapped in is quite small."

"Okay." Harry said, glad to have the information (though he intended to check out its veracity at the earliest reasonable opportunity – if he was stuck here that long – just in case), but still a bit weirded out at the way Tom appeared to be acting relatively pleasant and – dare he believe it? – maybe even genuinely helpful. "But what does that have to do with what may or may not have happened when I arrived?"

Tom stared at him a moment before shaking his head, rolling his eyes. "Right, right, you're – what, a third year? And probably Gryffindor at that, you lot can never be bothered to learn anything that doesn't involve explosions of some sort."

Harry opened his mouth to point that he'd learned the curse that utterly destroyed the other boy's older self just fine, thanks; reconsidered and settled for a mild, "Fourth year, actually." He was getting so used to the tendency of everyone around to subtract years from his age that he found it almost not even worth getting irritated about anymore. _And it's kind of nice that everyone _doesn't_ know my age at a moment's thought simply because my history is just that well known. _

"Fourth? Then you really should have started with at least the basics of wards."

"I haven't had very many competent Defense teachers." Harry said shortly. Considered. "Also, I didn't grow up in the middle of a war." _At least, not one that more than a handful of people realized was still going on._

Tom shook his head. "I swear, the things they're teaching people these days. I ought to just become Defense teacher myself." His smile took on a fixed quality. "If I wasn't simply the last remaining fragments of a shard of soul too stubborn to die."

_I suppose if the Defense position really _is_ cursed, I can easily guess who put it there. _

He shook off the mood – thankfully, given that Harry really didn't know what to say; an apology might have been appropriate, but he would have been lying – falling into an instructive tone of voice. "As you probably – or I guess, probably don't know, if you haven't been taught anything and clearly haven't gone out of your way to better yourself outside of class –"

Harry couldn't help cracking a dark grin at that. "Oh, I have done some very interesting – and ultimately quite rewarding – research in my time." He said cheerfully. "I just never looked into wards."

Tom eyed him, clearly irritated. Harry shut up. "_Anyway_, there are two broad categories of warding: inward-turned, which focus on keeping something inside the ward there; and outward-turned, which focus on keeping things outside the ward from getting in."

Harry squinted, rather interested despite himself (and, more impressively, despite who was talking). "So, Fidelius would be an outward-turned ward, then? Since it doesn't prevent people from leaving, it just prevents people on the outside from finding anyone or anything inside?"

Tom stared at him for a moment before rolling his eyes skyward. "He doesn't know even know the basics of ward theory, but he knows what Fidelius is." An exasperated sigh. "But yes, Fidelius is a classic – if horrendously difficult – example of an outward-turned ward."

"… And I guess what you're leading up to is that we're inside one of those inward-turned wards?" Harry asked. "Though how does that work when we're also inside Bill's head?"

Tom shrugged. "Magic? Probably his subconscious dreamed this up as a metaphorical representation of his need to trap what was left of me, when it turned out I wasn't completely gone." He nodded. "And yes, as far as I've been able to tell, this is a textbook example of what is known as a Wraparound Ward – it encloses a certain, generally small area, making it so that if the people trapped inside attempt to exit the enclosed area, they simply find themselves walking back into the enclosed area from the other side."

"Ah, like you were saying you did before." Harry nodded, then paused and eyed Tom. "Not that this isn't interesting, but – what does it have to do with anything?"

Tom blinked. "Right. So the Wraparound Ward – assuming, for the time being, that this is one in truth and not just something that looks and acts very much like it – is pretty difficult to break from the inside, as you might expect. It would be a different matter if it were shoddily constructed – then if you can find one of the rough spots, you can generally break it with sheer power – but this one is almost unnaturally well-constructed, so that was a wash."

"Magic." Harry offered, lips twitching.

"Likely so." Tom shrugged the interruption off. "The main weakness of even a well-constructed Wraparound Ward is that it doesn't deal very well with intrusions from the outside. If something enters the ward, or even just makes prolonged contact with it, that area weakens. To anyone at all familiar with ward construction, the weakness is noticeable and can be taken advantage of."

"So it's pretty effective against a small, localized group of people, but if even one of them escapes being trapped by the ward, it's effectively useless." Harry summarized. "And I'm guessing that you're one of those people who's at least passingly familiar with ward construction, and that roughly ten minutes ago you felt a momentary weakness in the ward that we're assuming corresponds with my arrival." He cocked his head. "So if you felt it, why didn't you take advantage of it?"

Tom grimaced. "I wasn't prepared, and it didn't last long enough for me to prepare. That's why it's best to have co-conspirators on the outside who can hold the weakness steady long enough to actually _do_ something about it." He shook his head. "A few minutes after, it happened several times in relatively quick succession; I was about to come out and see what was going on, but then it stopped happening, so I put it down to some sort of fluke." He eyed Harry. "You didn't come with friends, did you?"

Harry shook his head. _I wonder_ … "No, I'm alone." He answered absently, closing his eyes. _I can't believe I'm willingly closing my eyes in front of _Tom Riddle_. Am I _nuts_? … But then, he's been remarkably civil so far, so I guess … I'm willing to risk it? _He once again visualized Hogwarts, this time focusing that little out-of-the-way nook where he and Remus had sat and argued. _Take me – there!_

Tom made a noise of surprise – Harry was not at all surprised at the confirmation that, like all his other attempts, this one hadn't worked either – and Harry's eyes snapped back open just in time to see the older boy advancing on him. "Just now – what did you _do_?"

Harry skipped backwards, not willing to trust their current – cease-fire? – that far. "So did that do it again? Affect the barrier?"

Tom abruptly stopped advancing, clearly noticing that it was doing more harm than good, and relaxed back into a deliberately casual pose. "Yes, it did. I take it, then, that you may not have others with you, but you _do _have an idea what caused the later disturbances?"

And if that wasn't a politely roundabout Slytherin demand for him to share the information he held, Harry would – well, he didn't even bother to finish the sentence in his head, so sure was he that he would not have had to carry through with said unspecified promise. "… Yes." The question was, should he?

"_This doesn't look like a Malfoy holding." _

Bill's hiss was clearly lower in volume than the previous quiet conversation the two of them had been holding, but still more than loud enough to thoroughly distract both Harry and Tom from their current conversation.

Harry eyed the surrounding area – or at least as much of it as he could see from their Bill's-eye-screen, a large part of which had been taken up by his focus on his friend's face. Certainly it didn't look anything like his private imaginings of what a Malfoy residence would look like, either. It looked, in fact, distinctly … shabby.

Claudius frowned slightly. _"I must admit, I wasn't expecting this, either, until Father told us where to go – usually we Floo straight home rather than bothering with this roundabout path."_ He shrugged, wiping the expression away with an equally faint smile._ "Father must be feeling more paranoid than usual."_

"_Boys?"_ Lucius Malfoy's voice called, muffled as though separated by a thin wall or two. Bill and Claudius exchanged looks, then scampered in the direction of the older man's voice.

After a stroll through what Harry was tempted to call the back-alleys of some small town he'd never seen before, they ducked into yet another shabby-looking house, and once again utilized the Floo at Lucius' direction. After three additional similar hops, Bill claimed a need to rest and let his head stop spinning. (He might even have been telling the truth – certainly Harry was very glad that motion on the outside didn't appear to have any effect on their little room. The spinning as Bill went through the Floo was bad enough to watch, but at least he could close his eyes or turn his head away from the view window when it got too bad.)

Lucius looked to be momentarily torn, then shrugged a shoulder elegantly and informed the two young men that he'd be waiting in the front room and to catch up when they'd re-adjusted – but make it soon, mind.

Claudius looked about to follow his father when Bill caught his sleeve, using Claudius' body to hide the arm he'd used for the grab from the line of sight Lucius would have had if he'd been bothering to pay any attention. _"What's going on?"_ He hissed. _"I know you said your father was being more paranoid than usual, but this is just getting ridiculous."_

Claudius' face was very blank.

From the lack of jittering in their view, Harry suspected that Bill was staring back.

The moment stretched, stretched some more, and finally broke as Claudius' mask cracked. _"I don't really know what's going on either. Maybe he's just feeling really, really paranoid?" _

"_But you don't think so. You think something else is happening. Something bad."_ Bill said. At Claudius' surprised look, he sighed. _"I _have_ been your friend for nearly three years now. Give me _some_ credit for being able to tell when you're worrying and trying to hide it." _

Claudius huffed a laugh. _"Fair enough, I suppose. Yes, I'm worried – Father said some … things … in his letters about break that gave me the impression that I might be … shall we say, getting a special opportunity to meet someone … important." _

"_You don't mean –"_

"—_Don't even _think_ the name."_ Claudius hissed, looking around as he held a finger to Bill's lips – at least, Harry was pretty sure that's where the finger had gone. _"I –"_ he hesitated, closing his eyes briefly, before admitting, _"—one of the reasons I invited you with me was because I figured he would … change his plans if I had you around too."_ For a moment, Claudius' face reflected what Harry thought were probably his true feelings – bone-deep fear, both for himself and for his friend, and guilt at his part in bringing things to the current state. _"Instead, I just got you mixed into this mess with me. So – I hope I'm wrong, but …"_

"… I hope he is, too." Tom said, as heartfelt as Harry had ever heard him. "Merlin's balls."

Bill released his hold on Claudius' sleeve, moving that hand up to pull the Ravenclaw's hand away from his face, clasping it briefly. _"Needless to say, I hope you're wrong too. But even if you're not – I'd rather be here, facing it with you together, than sitting at home wondering what's going on, waiting for you to come back with crazy stories … or wondering why you never made it back." _He stood. _"Well – no sense putting off the inevitable. Let's go." _

As the two headed out to find Claudius' father again, Harry was released from his fascination with the events playing out on the screen, belatedly replaying the last couple of minutes inside this room in his mind. He turned to Tom and blinked. "You … do? Hope that they're not going to meet –" he considered using the name, like he always did, but at the last moment decided against it, perhaps remembering the fervent look on Claudius' face. "—your future self? Why?"

Tom stared at him as though he'd asked why the sky is blue, then seemed to remember his audience (and his opinion of said audience's intelligence) and sighed. "This –" he pointed downwards, "—is the body of a Gryffindor – which means he's by definition incapable of keeping his inflammatory opinions to himself – who is firmly on the Light side. The chances that he will successfully navigate a meeting with my future self _without_ that coming to light are next to nil. I don't take well to potential traitors – or fools, or Gryffindors, at that – and I doubt that that particular trait of mine has softened in the intervening years."

"But while this existence is terribly frustrating and only just this side of meaningless," Tom glared at Harry, as though he thought the younger man might need a reminder just _whose_ fault that was (or as though he thought Harry would feel guilt about putting him in that state, which … no, to be honest, he really didn't), "I find that I am still quite protective of what few remaining shards of life I still call my own. I'd really rather not lose what remains of my life just because some thirteen-year-old Gryffindor couldn't keep his mouth shut."

It was likely a terribly bad idea in any number of ways, but somewhat to his shock, Harry realized he believed Tom. _By all accounts, he's always been terribly concerned with self-preservation, after all. _And, furthermore, that sometime during his distraction – partly, but not completely, due to Tom's latest comments – he'd made his decision, too. "I don't know how much you've guessed about who or what I am." He said suddenly.

Tom's sudden narrow-eyed and very intent regard told him that the Slytherin was quite aware that said comment was not nearly as much of a non sequitur as it seemed. Rather than say anything, he simply raised an eyebrow, inclined his head minimally, and waited.

Harry tried not to let it bother him – tried not to second-guess himself – too much. "I'm a ghost. Ish. You're probably familiar with the Soul-Killing Curse?"

Tom blinked. "I thought that destroyed the other person utterly. And you're just a kid – who would hate you badly enough to pull something that drastic against you?"

Harry huffed a laugh. "You'd be surprised." _Literally, _you_._ "And I think you've misunderstood me. I wasn't the target – I was the caster."

_It's a pity,_ he mused, doing his best to hide a grin at Tom's completely floored expression, _that I don't have a camera. I doubt I'll ever see this again._

"Anyway." He said, hoping to avoid whatever tangent Tom was likely to strike off on once he got his face back under control, "To make a long story short, I used the curse and died in the future – no, I'm not going to tell you when or who against, so don't even ask – and then found myself here, in my past. Well, a version of my past, at least." He shook his head, in silent reminder that he too should avoid tangents if he wanted to get this over with.

"I only seem to be able to exist here in the past by temporarily possessing – sort of – people living in this era. Usually it's more of a time-share sort of thing, in some manner." He gestured upwards. "I suspect I got stuck here because when I started to possess Bill, his mental defenses, already primed against your intrusion, cornered and shunted me in here." A shrug. "I think I may have actually been in his mind proper for a few moments there – I remembered the bit about his brother being sick before he brought it up again, and I think I may have been the source of the warning that made him change his mind and come with Claudius after all."

"Thanks for that." Tom grumbled.

"Yeah, well, not like I had any control over what he'd do with the warning – if I'd had the chance, I'm sure I would have made a point of stressing that he should keep Claudius there, rather than leave with him." _Tangents. Stay on topic, Harry. _"Anyway. When I leave a body here, I snap back to the future – my present – in an independent ghost-like form. I'm not precisely a ghost, because not everyone can see me, but I'm definitely incorporeal. And one of the things I've discovered I can do while in that form is a sort of … wandless Apparition. Except I think Apparition requires pretty strict visualization, whereas I can pop somewhere else just based on vague commands like 'find this person' or 'go somewhere safe'."

"Ah, I see." Tom said, his face – formerly a study of combined fascination and impatience – clearing, leaving only something that looked worryingly like satisfaction. "And you were trying to invoke that Apparition-like thing you do, earlier, and you think that's what was causing the disturbances in the ward?"

Harry shrugged. "The timing and frequency seems to roughly match. And I can't think of anything else it could have been."

Tom leaned forward, satisfaction morphing into a predatory eagerness. "Then I think I may have a plan."

17 October 2012


	22. Chapter 22

(11/27/2012) You guys are seriously amazing. I didn't really know what to expect, coming back after so long, so the massive outpouring of excitement over the last 24 hours has been … well … amazing.

Thank you all so much, and … enjoy!

# # # Chapter 22 # # #

"Seriously? Another one?" Harry protested, as the flare of flame from the latest Floo trip died away to show yet another somewhat shabby-looking house – this one appeared likely to be the smallest yet, from the comparative sizes of the rooms Bill walked through, but also looked more recently and carefully cared for than most of the others. "This is just getting ridiculous. Why can't they just _get _there, already, so I can get out of here."

"I find I must agree." Tom said idly, elbow propped on the table and cheek rested in his upstretched hand, the picture of unconcern as he spared barely a glance for the view window that Harry watched so avidly. "I hesitate to think that this might be at my older self's suggestion, since I don't like to think that he's gone senile so soon. Even if this were some elaborate scheme to throw off people tracing the Floo – even if there actually _were_ anyone bothering to trace Floo usages, which I must admit I also doubt – and even if anyone was bothering to look at said records, which seems even more unlikely – it would be child's play to construct a map of the probable paths taken and the probable endpoint location." His eyes narrowed consideringly, he picked his head up off his hand and made a move. "Check."

Harry threw a disgusted, yet resigned glance at the older boy before turning his attention to the chess board. He considered briefly – only slightly longer than Tom had spent looking at the view window earlier – and then made his move in response, turning back to the view window. "If they have records – though for the record, I'm not arguing against the likely level of incompetence or lack of caution in the government, if it's anything like my time – wouldn't it be a simple matter of connecting the dots? Even though we're not usually Flooing back out through the same house, it's almost always maybe a few minutes' walk away at best. Pretty clear, I'd think." He snorted. "Though unless they're either frighteningly overworked or underfunded, anyone with an average 30-minute response time to the _Dark Mark_ floating in the sky clearly can't navigate his way out of a wet paper bag …"

Tom raised his eyebrows, shifting his attention from the board to Harry. "That sounds like a story."

Harry shrugged. "Not as interesting as you're probably expecting. V – your future self visited the house of the … person I was possessing at the time, and between one thing and another I managed to keep him distracted long enough for Dumbledore to show up," Harry grimaced, "and then we kept him distracted long enough that he finally decided to leave without killing anyone rather than deal with the Aurors that would be showing up not that much later."

"Oh, that's quite an interesting story." Tom said in something Harry thought was supposed to be a kindly tone of voice, as though Harry had any interest in his reassurance. (He didn't.) "How'd you keep him distracted that long?"

Harry eyed him suspiciously, but couldn't help the malicious grin. "Well, at the risk of helping my mortal enemy out … you – the older you – get quite angry when your old name is mentioned. I think you're trying to hide it from your followers."

Tom pursed his lips. "I suppose I could see that. Seems awfully short-sighted to let myself get worked up that way, though." He shook his head once. "Not important right now." Then cocked it, eyeing Harry like a piece of meat. "So, you're not a fan of Dumbledore either?"

Harry shrugged. "Let's say we have a few … differences of opinion. He's not a huge fan of me possessing his students and doesn't seem to be willing to take my word for it that the possession is nearly as involuntary on my part as it is on theirs." He went still, then glared at Tom. "Oh hell no, you are _not_ trying to recruit me. I may not be a huge fan of Dumbledore in this time period, but there is _no way_ I would ever join you. In any form."

And he was reminded, suddenly, vividly, of another room, much larger and darker, and a phoenix that only came to those who truly believed in his master, and a sword that appeared to a true Gryffindor in his time of need, and he wondered what had happened to that boy and his steadfast faith. _Has it really only been two years? It feels like forever. … And yet here I am, co-operating with _him_. _

Not for the first time, he wondered if he had gone out of his mind, sometime between opening the door to the Burrow and deciding to politely follow his nemesis into the living room.

"Well, it was worth a try." Tom said easily, seemingly unconcerned by the vehement rejection. "Is this your first time playing chess or something?" He moved. "Check."

Despite himself, Harry deflated. _Speaking of surreal, playing chess with _him_ definitely ranks up there, too._ "No, I play with my friend R – _played_, with one of my friends back home, all the time." He said, again paying only just enough attention to the board to find the first move he noticed that would bring him out of check, then taking it. "I'm just not terribly good at it."

"_That's_ an understatement." Tom muttered, then made his move. "Checkmate."

Harry tipped over his king, barely feeling the sting of loss. He could get pretty competitive about things he cared about, but chess had never been one of them. (Just as well, since he probably couldn't have stayed friends with Ron if he had resented him for beating him at chess. Constantly. Harry was fairly certain he'd never won a single game.) And, surprisingly (or perhaps not), Tom was being far less obnoxious about his win than Ron typically had been.

_And now I'll never play another game of chess with him again. _

Harry violently squashed that self-pitying thought, and cast around for another subject to take his mind off it. "Where was … ah, right – the Floo tracing. Wouldn't it be as simple as connecting the dots?"

Tom's face brightened slightly, and Harry braced himself for another enthusiastic, overlong lecture. And twitched a little, internally, at the realization that he could recognize that sort of expression change in, well, _him_.

"Well, when I was experimenting with it back in fourth year, I found that even though you could accurately trace who had gone through a particular fireplace on the network, and get a general sense of when it had occurred, I was never able to narrow the time period identified much lower than a day. Even if we assume that the government knows what they're doing better than I did –" Harry snorted and Tom smirked "—yes, well, and if we take into account that they've had a few years to potentially discover new ways of narrowing the window … even then, my guess is that they'd probably still only have a resolution of a few hours."

"So if you Floo a lot of places rapidly, even if they were keeping track, they wouldn't be able to tell which places you went to in which order." Harry summarized. Tom nodded. "That's … not a bad idea, actually. What about –?"

Tom raised a hand, attention suddenly focused back on the view window, which showed a view of rolling hills and, still in the middle distance but slowly growing nearer, a large manor house, dark and imposing. "They've been walking much further than usual, through a more rural area." He said. "I do believe we may be about to see –"

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. Harry's focus had shifted just as sharply, previous question completely forgotten.

They watched in silence as the three approached the manor proper, walking through the sort of rough territory that Harry would never have thought Lucius Malfoy might be willing to ever set foot on. (He had to admit to grudging respect for how smoothly the man navigated the treacherous terrain. Maybe it was a Malfoy thing, since Claudius also did not seem to have much trouble, only stumbling once.)

Bill, on the other hand, appeared intent on tripping over or stumbling on essentially every obstacle in his way. Harry would have closed his eyes to get away from the near constant jittering of their view, if not for his conviction that every detail, no matter how small, might end up being important.

At last, they reached the gate – from the roughness of the surrounding territory and the lack of ostentatiousness, likely the back gate – and it swung open as they reached it, giving Harry an unpleasant lurch as he realized he recognized the man standing there – Goyle Sr. _"Welcome back, Lord Malfoy."_ The man said. _"Young sir … s?"_

"_I stand sponsor to both."_ The elder Malfoy said._ "My son, Claudius, as I am sure you are aware. And this is a friend of his from school, William Weasley." _

The Goyles clearly didn't believe as much in stoicism as the Malfoys; the surprise at Bill's inclusion was painfully clear on his face. However, he did appear to have at least enough intelligence to know that neither questions nor protests would be received happily by Lucius Malfoy, so he shut his mouth and scraped up a reasonable facsimile of his previous friendly smile. _"Well, as I said, welcome. I'll, uh – let me show you to your rooms."_ He turned and walked off in the direction of the main house.

Lucius sped up just enough to come even with the other man, drawing him into a low-voiced conversation. _"Does _He_ know?"_ Goyle asked, looking back. Harry wondered if the man knew that they could hear him.

"_It was a spur of the moment decision."_ Lucius said, completely unaffected by the other's nervousness. _"But I have reason to believe that _He_ will be … pleased."_

At that point, they drew out of easily audible range, but that had been enough. Tom and Harry exchanged a speaking glance. _Presence confirmed. Now all we need is …_

Movement brought Harry's attention fully back to the view window, to see that Bill was swinging his head about, apparently doing his best to look everywhere at once. _"Do you know where we are?"_ He hissed to Claudius, slowing down even as the adults sped up, putting the adults out of eavesdropping range as well – whether intentionally or not, Harry wasn't quite sure.

Claudius was also looking around. _"I'm … not quite sure. I think –"_ he paused, peering through a half-open door into what looked – when Bill turned to look also – like a small sitting room, populated by a large-cushioned love seat, several chairs, and a fireplace over which a large, ornate coat of arms hung.

"Hah." Tom said, sounding self-satisfied. "I thought I recognized the gardens from –"

"_Yes!" _Claudius also sounded pleased, though not as obnoxiously so as Tom. _"This is Silverthorne Manor. It took a bit – I've been here before, but it was when I was quite a bit younger, so I don't remember it terribly well …"_

Harry couldn't help the triumphant grin on his face, a match to Tom's smirk.

_We've got them now. _

# # # # #

Harry looked around the yard – still so familiar, still so disquietingly silent – his gaze eventually coming full circle back to Tom. "I can't believe you're actually trusting me." He said, shaking his head, trying to dispel his sudden bout of nerves. Then paused. "No, actually, I'm sure your twisty Slytherin mind has come up with some reason why you think it makes sense."

Tom smirked. "Even I'm willing to admit that when a Gryffindor gives his word, he typically goes to ridiculous lengths to keep it. Besides, you all seem to have 'saving-people things' – you've clearly shown you have no problem with killing me," Harry suppressed the currently-inappropriate smile but couldn't help thinking _If only you knew …_ "but I sincerely doubt you'd be willing to leave an innocent in my future self's clutches."

"… And thus my point is proven."

Tom rolled his eyes. "That's not twisty, it's common sense."

Unwilling to admit that he agreed – maybe he'd been spending too much time around Snape lately? – Harry pointedly continued. "Actually, what I really can't believe is that _I'm_ actually trusting _you_."

The Slytherin shrugged. "That's common sense too. All you really have to trust me to do is not want to die."

"And not decide to turn tail and throw yourself on V – your future self's …" Harry trailed off, not quite able to bring himself to utter the word 'mercy' in this context. "… OK, fair point."

"Aside from that, the main thing you have to trust in – since you seem unfortunately uninterested in allowing me a _proper_ free reign – is young William's ability to re-trap me if I misbehave. Which he's also demonstrated that he is capable of."

Harry shook his head again, trying to dispel the creepy feeling that he actually agreed with Voldemort – young or not. _Maybe _that's_ all the reason I need to get out of here right now._ "Right."

"Now that we've reassured your fragile little sensibilities, can we get on with this?" Tom asked with a quick glance back towards the house. "If I'm going to be left behind to keep the kid –"

"And Claudius."

"— And his little Ravenclaw friend" Tom continued as smoothly as if he'd been planning to say so in the first place "alive, I should get back to keeping an eye on what's going on. _Before_ they get involved in anything dangerous. There's a reason we're doing this before getting positive visual confirmation that my future self is actually here, you know."

Harry sighed deeply, trying to expel all his nerves and doubts. He was … not terribly successful. "Right." He repeated. "I know. Let's do this."

_And I really hope I don't regret it …_

He closed his eyes, trying to shove away the creeping twitchiness that came from – he wasn't sure, really, whether it was the knowledge that he was willingly closing his eyes in front of his worst enemy (of sorts), or simply a feeling of exposure because he'd never done this in front of anyone else before. Particularly not when he wasn't even sure it would work.

_Focus. It _has_ to work, because otherwise, Bill and Claudius will be …_

He carefully crafted his mental image of Remus – he thought he remembered hearing that the werewolf was planning on staying at Hogwarts over the Easter break, so he'd be in a good position to inform the teachers. Plus, maybe they'd get a chance to talk things out sometime before the rescue mission got underway. _Ugh. Stop worrying about what you're going to say if – _when_ you get out of here, and _focus_._

He began coiling that internal sense of – power? Tension? – all the while holding that image of Remus as he had last seen him, sad and angry and resolute and resigned – with background carefully left unclear, since he didn't particularly care _where_ Remus was (well, he could think of a few places that would be awkward. But in general.), and didn't want to risk some detail in the setting possibly throwing him off.

With that same peculiar twist that felt less peculiar each time he used it, he released everything he had gathered. _I want to be – there!_

For a moment, he felt an odd stretching sensation, but it left almost as soon as it came, leaving him gloomily certain of what he would see when he re-opened his eyes. "Well. That was useless. Any other bright ideas?"

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far." Tom said, an unfamiliar note of strain in his voice, body tensed against some invisible force. "That definitely did _something_ – left just enough of a weakness that I was able to tie myself in and keep it from re-smoothing. Try again – with one or two more attempts like that, you should be able to punch through."

"… You said it would work the first time, too." Harry winced at the force of the glare, waving his hands placatingly. "I'm concentrating, I'm concentrating!"

The image of Remus came easier this time – in some ways it hadn't really left – but the coiling of power seemed somehow more … sluggish. _I guess maybe I'm getting tired? Hopefully he's right and it'll only take a couple more tries. Otherwise, we may have to wait for me to recover. And … I'm not sure we have that much time to waste. _

Once again he released it. The feeling of stretching – of being pulled – was stronger and lasted longer this time, but once again he opened his eyes to the sight of the disquietingly empty field in front of the Burrow, and Tom Riddle, who seemed to be … sweating? "Just a bit more." He sounded like he was forcing the words out. "Try again."

Harry considered responding, but nothing he could think of seemed worth the effort, so he simply nodded curtly and closed his eyes again. _I can manage one more for sure. Maybe two. After that – well, no point in worrying about it now. Let's wait to worry about how to cross that bridge when we reach it. _

Remus. Coiling power, stored up until he didn't think he could hold anymore – if he failed anyway, he wouldn't let it be because he was being too cautious. _Spoken like a true Gryffindor. _Sniped a sarcastic part of his stream of consciousness, as had become the norm, recently, sounding suspiciously like Snape.

Release.

The feeling of stretching started again, stronger than ever. And unlike before, when it had died rapidly, as time passed it seemed to be growing stronger. His eyes snapped open, and he found that he couldn't clearly see anything around him; it had all blurred, as though he had lost his glasses, though when he reached up to check – and that simple action felt like moving through molasses – they were still seated firmly on his face. The blurry object that had replaced Tom raised a smaller blob attached to his side – a hand raised in farewell? – and he felt a sudden increase in the pull, to the point where it almost became painful.

Then, with a snapping sensation not unlike a rubber band breaking, he found himself catapulted up and out and away.

_Ugh, I can't believe I'm thinking this, but … take care of them, Tom. I'm counting on you._

_Good luck._

# # # # #

Bill staggered suddenly, Claudius instantly reaching out to catch and steady him, even as he cast his gaze forward to where his father and Mr. Goyle had turned a corner in the dim hallway, temporarily out of sight. "Is something wrong?"

"… Yeah." The redhead rubbed at his right temple. "Sorry, I just got a horrible headache for a moment there; I must have tripped on something."

Claudius looked at the floor behind them. Smooth hardwood, with clear indications that it was well-cared for. "… Like thin air?"

"Oi, no need for sarcasm."

"And the headache? Father might have some Headache Potion he could give you … and for some reason, he seems to like you, so he might even be willing to."

"No, it was really only for a moment – it's completely gone now." Bill dredged up a wry smile. "And … it was the strangest thing. For a moment there, I could have sworn I heard someone wishing us luck."

Claudius found a wry smile of his own. "Well, I'm not one to reject that. We'll probably need all the luck we can get."

A bitter twist of his friend's lips was as good as a vocal agreement; as was the way his expression suddenly changed to a joking grin as he slung an arm around his more reticent companion. "Besides, what do you mean by 'for some reason'? _Everyone _likes me, I'm just that charming!"

"Just keep on telling yourself that …"

# # # # #

_The nice thing about Easter,_ Remus mused as he settled back into one of the fluffy chairs near the common room's fireplace, _is that every now and then, I can take a day to do nothing but sit around and do some light reading, and no one's around to care. _

Most of the Gryffindors went home for Easter, including his three primary partners in crime. They were still here this year, each with their own reasons … but by this hour they had also all vacated Gryffindor in search of other things to do, so really it was almost the same. Remus, on the other hand, had gone home his first year – an experience that had been ten kinds of awkward for everyone involved – and vowed to never do so again. True, the relative silence of Gryffindor took a bit of getting used to – amazing, how one can get to the point where they're worried when they _don't_ hear the occasional explosion, but, well, the Marauders – and in all honesty, he'd miss the noise if it was this silent all the time. But a little bit of peace and quiet occasionally could be nice, too.

He picked his book back up from where he had left it on the coffee table. _Let's see, where was I …_

The fireplace flickered.

Remus' attention shot to it, now looking completely normal again. _Am I just seeing things? Maybe there was just a particularly big spark that made it look like more than just the fire …_

It happened again, as he watched, and he noticed that it wasn't so much the fireplace flickering as a well-defined region – maybe five feet high, a couple feet wide. He stood up and circled to the side, and on the next flicker confirmed that the flickering region was not part of the fireplace itself, but set about a foot in front of it.

Several flickers later – they seemed to be coming progressively faster – the vague region resolved itself into a vague outline of a person, and Remus felt another thrill of alarm rush through him. _I know people can't Apparate into Hogwarts; I didn't think there was any other way to do the same sort of thing. Though to be fair, whatever this person is doing, it doesn't seem to be working terribly _well_._

Several flickers later, and in the moments of existence (which also seemed to be lengthening) he started being able to recognize individual features – a long black robe that looked like a student robe, though not well-enough resolved that he could see the House patch; a shock of unruly black hair; large blocky glasses that simultaneously looked too small for his head; and – "Harry?"

"Remus!" Harry's face – for it _was_ Harry, it could hardly be anyone else – brightened briefly, then fell; Remus barely managed to keep himself from recoiling backwards from the pain seeing that expression – and _knowing_ he was the cause – caused him.

One more flicker, and then Harry solidified … or at least as solid as a spirit could get; Remus could still see the fireplace hiding behind him, the fire making it seem as though his lower legs were wreathed in ethereal flames. "—just wanted to say I'm sorry I left the way I did." Harry said, voice rushed. "It's not – I really value you as a friend, I want you to believe that, and I _do_ trust you, and I'm _sorry _that I can't bring myself to tell you these things because I'm too much of a _coward_."

Remus stared blankly, before somehow gathering enough presence of mind from somewhere to say, "No, I should be the one apologizing – I was being too harsh, and I knew it, I was just letting my stupid jealousy –"

Another flicker made him pause, but Harry reappeared almost before he could start worrying about him having disappeared. "—And _Merlin_, am I completely incapable of staying focused?" Harry continued, as though he hadn't heard a word Remus had said. "That's not the important thing right now – well, it _is_ important, to me, but _more _importantly, you've got to tell someone, Bill Weasley and Cla—"

And as though someone had just cast _Nox_ in a brightly lit room, he was suddenly – gone. Remus stood there, motionless, for several minutes before it finally sunk in that this was no momentary flicker – he really had disappeared this time. Then sank back down into his chair, book untouched, fighting the urge to curl up further in some futile effort to hide himself from the pain and from his helplessness.

_Did you even hear my apology in return?_ He hadn't let himself realize until just now how much he desperately wanted to say it. _And – what about Bill Weasley? Who or what is Cla? Who am I supposed to tell and what am I supposed to tell them? _

… _Why am I always so utterly _useless_?_

# # # # #

For a few brief, shining moments, he had thought it had actually worked.

He had been _there_, back in the familiar Gryffindor common room, in front of the familiar fireplace with its familiar chairs, and – Remus. The relief had been so great that he'd begun speaking before his brain entirely caught up to the words coming out of his mouth; then he'd abruptly become aware of a pulling sensation, much like what had propelled him from Bill's head to begin with, and he'd realized he hadn't had as much time as he thought.

He'd tried to pass on the message, hung onto that familiar scene with metaphysical tooth and nail for as long as he could; steamrolled quite rudely over whatever it was that Remus had been trying to say (and perhaps that should have been his first clue, that he hadn't been able to hear or feel anything, even initially, not even the crackling warmth of the fire he must have been standing in front of).

Then everything had abruptly swirled away mid-sentence (maybe even mid-word, though he desperately hoped at least all of Claudius' name had come through), the Gryffindor common room and Remus shrinking into the distance to become just one more piece of the swirl of images that always surrounded him during his peculiar variation on time travel. _No! I can't leave! I have to get back, to warn someone properly –!_

He tumbled into the Gryffindor common room with none of his usual grace (which was, admittedly not a whole lot, but at least usually allowed him to make a standing entrance), and for another moment thought his pleas had been answered.

Then he noticed the angle of the light from the windows – evening rather than early afternoon – and, more to the point, the layout of the chairs and couches; the positions and contents of the various paintings and other knick-knacks that littered the walls, and knew that while this was certainly a familiar Gryffindor common room, it was not the _right_ one.

_I've got to get back. _Now._ It's usually at least a couple of weeks by the time I get back, but Bill and Claudius don't have that kind of time. I doubt they even have _days_. I've got to find someone to hitch a ride on – Snape! Severus will help …_

"… And you believed him?" Hermione's voice, skeptical but not as condescendingly so as she could get. "It's _Snape_." Harry's half-gathered _Find Snape_ jump power dissipated as though it had never been, as he turned around to see his two best friends sharing a couch in front of the fire.

"A Snape who appeared to be attempting make me feel better." Ron said stubbornly. "And didn't take crazy amounts of points when I was, er, kinda rude to him. Which is far enough into unbelievable territory as it is that, well …" He hesitated. "And when I captured Pettigrew –"

"… Which was one of the most foolhardy, ridiculous stunts I have ever heard of in my life." Hermione interrupted. "What if you had gotten hurt? What if you had _died_? And left me –" She abruptly shut up, turning her head away to stare into the fire. Harry wondered if she was crying, but it didn't feel quite right to circle around to the front of the couch and look. Even if she wouldn't – neither of them would – see him anyway.

Still, his mind was more than capable of filling in the blanks, and from the look on Ron's face and his half-raised hand, his was too. After a moment, though, he brought his hand back to his lap, turning his face away. "I … I'm not going to apologize for doing what I thought was right. But … I _am_ sorry if I worried you."

"Idiot." Hermione said, then turned back to glare at Ron. "Next time, at least bring me _with _you."

Ron grinned crookedly. "It's a promise." He cleared his throat. "Anyway. What I was getting at – when I captured Pettigrew, he seemed to think Harry was there, too."

"An attempt at distracting you?" Hermione suggested.

Ron grimaced. "Maybe. But – the two events that close together … it just made me think that maybe there _was _something to it after all. Especially since, well … I hate Snape as much as the next person, but … he doesn't usually lie, I don't think. Especially about something so obviously …"

"Ridiculous?" Hermione offered, when Ron seemed to be struggling to find an appropriate word. "… And I suppose it's true that from all the literature I've managed to find, no one really knows what happens to the caster of _that spell_. So maybe he did come back as some sort of weird ghost that only some people can see …"

"But if so, then why not us? We were his best friends, weren't we?"

Harry backed away, unable to bear any longer being both an unseen observer of and the ultimate source of their grief; pulled that strange sense of power around himself once again, and jumped.

21 October 2012


	23. Chapter 23

(11/28/2012) Another day, another chapter …

Enjoy!

# # # Chapter 23 # # #

Harry popped back into existence – such as it was – in a room significantly more dimly lit than the place he had just left behind. He had just enough time to take note of the scattering of cauldrons of various shapes, sizes, and materials across rows of neatly arranged tables before exhaustion hit him like a sledgehammer, making him sit down abruptly on a nearby stool.

And then pass through that to the floor, because apparently he no longer had even the minimal concentration necessary to ape 'normal' reactions to solids. He supposed he was lucky not to have sunk through the floor as well – though if this was where he thought it was, he suspected it was buried somewhere in the dungeons, so maybe he just hadn't had anywhere further down to go. (A small part of his mind wondered if, if he had continued to sink, he'd actually have made it all the way through the Earth and come out the other side. The rest of him decried that as entirely beside the point and, at this point in time, even actively counterproductive.)

_I guess I over-extended myself with that last one._

He slowly climbed back to his feet, not bothering to try and use the stool to lever himself back up, given that he suspected his hand would just go straight through it again, and looked around for his target. "Professor Snape? Are you here?" _He must be, otherwise why would I have appeared here? _

In response to his query, Harry heard a clang, what sounded like the bit-off beginnings of a particularly heart-felt curse, and finally – "Potter? What are you doing here?" His name muffled, the rest of the question coming out clearly as Professor Snape stuck his head out of a doorway that, dim shading into dimmer, Harry had previously completely failed to notice. "I'll be out in a moment and you can explain properly then. Until then, _don't touch anything._"

"… I'm pretty sure that's physically impossible for me at the moment, Professor." He'd tried to shortcut the conversation and just meet his professor's eyes, but – perhaps it was due to the distance (though he'd jumped to Lily from halfway across a Quidditch field, but maybe jumps directly between two physical bodies followed different rules?), maybe the dimness?

"I don't want to take any chances." The Professor's voice replied sharply from within the smaller – storeroom? "Some of these potions are quite delicate, and even though most people can't see you, you still clearly exist. There's no telling what might happen if you decided to stick your hand in one." He stuck his head back out just long enough to glare at Harry. "That's _not_ a challenge."

Had he been in a contrary mood, Harry might have pointed out that that just made it sound more like a challenge. As it was, though, he was anxious enough not to want to give Snape any reason to be difficult, and exhausted enough that just hovering there trying to regain enough energy to be able to pretend to sit on the stool without falling through it sounded … like a remarkable good idea, actually.

He'd just about decided to give sitting down another try when Professor Snape finally emerged from the store-room, wiping something – some sort of powder? – off his hands with a small white hand towel (and why, despite knowing the younger Snape, did he still expect it to be black or silver and green or something equally stereotypical?). "So, what's going on? When you disappeared shortly after the Weasley boy went on his fool quest, I expected you'd either gone to guard him or gone back to that strange alternate past. Yet here you are again."

Harry rubbed at his forehead – scar wasn't hurting, thankfully, and hopefully it never would again, but somehow despite being not corporeal anymore, he was apparently still capable of getting more normal headaches. "It's a bit of a long story, but – Bill and Claudius, the ones in that alternate past, will be in huge trouble, probably dead, if I don't get back there _soon_. And I thought …" he faltered. "Well. At least you can see me. And your younger self is more likely to help me without being a pain than Sirius is." He looked up to meet Professor Snape's eyes.

Nothing.

His stomach sank. What if it hadn't been a fluke before? What if he somehow couldn't make it back?

Professor Snape closed his eyes briefly, muttering something mostly-indecipherable about 'unbelievable' and 'Potters'. Harry considered protesting the name association again, but abruptly decided he was too exhausted – and frankly, at this point, fast on his way to being too panicked – to attempt to re-fight that particular battle.

After something even more indistinct that looked a bit like a prayer for patience, Professor Snape reopened his eyes and looked down at Harry. "Well? How can I help?"

Harry faltered. "I – I thought you could, you would have already, but it's not working …"

"Make sense, Potter."

Harry closed his own eyes, trying to pull his scattered thoughts into some semblance of order. "Eye contact. As far as I've been able to tell, it's eye contact that pops me back to the other world and causes me to start possessing the younger self of the person I made eye contact with." Professor Snape made a motion that looked almost like a suppressed shudder, and Harry bit his lip. "Er. Sorry about the first time. I hadn't fully figured it out yet, and well, it was kind of an accident."

"I see there's no apology about this time." The professor said dryly. "As I assume that's what the incessant staring you've been doing for the last few minutes is all about."

Harry flushed. "I – it's the only thing I could think of to get back there as fast as possible. I don't have the energy to make another jump to try and find someone else." Snape mouthed the word 'jump'; Harry realized he hadn't really explained that part yet, but forged on. "And – I don't think your younger self would mind. We coexisted for weeks that last time, and I didn't part with him on bad terms like –" He snapped his mouth shut. Some of his trust for the younger Snape may have spilled over to make him more willing to talk frankly with the older one, but there were subjects he didn't want to broach (with either one, really), and Remus was definitely one of those.

He shook his head. "But for some reason, it's _not working_. It's always worked before."

Professor Snape pursed his lips. "Who have you jumped to before? Perhaps there's a broader pattern that you're missing?"

Harry cast his eyes upwards as he thought, counting each person off on his fingers as he went. "First time I fell back, it was into my father's body. I think that was a fluke, though. Then Sirius. Then I jumped directly from him to my mother. Then you. Then Peter."

"Wormtail?" Professor Snape asked, perhaps a hint of incredulity coloring his tone.

Harry nodded. "I was worried about Ron, so I followed, and ended up meeting eyes with him by mistake as Ron paralyzed him. Peter in the past is actually … he's a good person. The two of you I think are on the way to becoming friends of a sort, though I don't know that he's actually convinced you to acknowledge it yet."

Another one of those odd suppressed shudders. "That's a truly strange alternate version of history you found yourself in, Potter. … Regardless. Was Wormtail the last?"

Harry shook his head. "After Peter was Bill Weasley. He's the last one." He bit his lip. "The only pattern I can see is that they're all people who can see me, and who are old enough to be alive in the time period I'm jumping back to."

"They're also all people you know personally." Professor Snape noted. "And I would hazard to guess that it's the combination of your acquaintance with them … us … and our being past the age boundary that makes us able to see you in the first place."

Harry's eyes widened. "So Ron and Hermione …!"

Professor Snape nodded. "The other pattern I notice is that you've yet to repeat a body-hop. That may be due to lack of opportunity or simple coincidence …"

"… Or it may be because once I hop to a person once, I can't do it again." Harry finished the thought grimly. _Shit._

"What other adults – or I suppose young adults would do in a pinch, if you hitched a ride on the young Weasley – do you know?"

Harry winced. "Re – Professor Lupin?"

Snape muttered something under his breath – almost certainly uncomplimentary – but when he spoke, it was remarkably pleasantly. "He hasn't been in contact much this past year – the Headmaster I believe is planning on sending him an owl to let him know of your … passing, but I don't know if he has done so yet, and even if so I sincerely doubt that it has arrived. Can you … jump, I think you called it, to his location, without knowing where he is?"

Harry shook his head. "I could if I had the energy to – that's how I found Ron right before I ended up in Peter's head – but right now I don't. I could try, but either nothing would happen at all …"

"Or we'd see what a ghostly splinching looks like, with very little chance that we could find anyone capable of putting you back together." Snape said grimly. "So that narrows it down to people who are currently at Hogwarts."

Harry scrunched his face up in obvious doubt, but reluctantly offered, "Professor McGonagall?"

Snape shook his head. "She's not at Hogwarts at the moment – I believe the Headmaster asked her to run some errand or another. She'll be back tomorrow morning, but I assume you don't want to wait that long."

Harry shook his head. "I'm afraid I've wasted too much time as it is." _So very afraid. You'd better be taking care of them, Riddle. Don't let me down._

Professor Snape appeared to be tallying something up mentally; after a moment he shook his head and, at Harry's quizzical look and mouth half open in preparation to demand an explanation, raised a hand to request silence, and explained. "I believe that between one thing and another, the only professors who are present at Hogwarts, awake at this hour, not unavoidably occupied by other matters, and who I remember also being present my seventh year – it was their seventh year you jumped to, was it not?" Harry nodded. "—are instructors in classes that you have never taken, and thus I assume you are unacquainted with them."

"You mean, like Professor Vector in Arithmancy?" Harry asked. Snape nodded. "Then yes … we've maybe exchanged words once or twice in the hall, but nothing more. I'd be surprised if she could see me, and honestly … even if she could, and it did work, I'm not sure I want to waste the time trying to convince someone who's never even heard of me before that I'm not going to hurt them." He brightened. "Hey, what about Lily's friend, Erica I think her name was? She knows about me."

Snape shook his head. "I'm afraid she was killed in the first war – less than a year after we graduated Hogwarts, if I recall correctly."

"Oh." _One more thing to report and try to prevent, I guess. If I ever find a way back. _

Snape crossed his arms, once again looking upwards as he ran through some sort of mental calculations. Then he abruptly blinked. "I do believe the solution has been staring us in the face. Potter."

"Yes?" Harry asked, optimistic despite himself.

"You said that it needs to be someone who can see you; who is alive currently; who knows you, ideally on both sides of the jump, and would be likely to believe you without a lot of extra explanation; and who is currently residing here at Hogwarts, correct?"

Harry nodded. Then Snape looked at him expectantly, and he realized that the Potions professor apparently thought the answer was sufficiently obvious he should have figured it out by now, too. "Sorry, professor, I can't think of anyone like that."

"What about the Headmaster?"

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry asked, incredulous. Sure, he was alive, and knew about Harry on both sides of the jump, and was apparently still here – probably even still awake – but … "There's no _way_ he'd believe me! He'd probably kick me out of his head the moment I appeared, or, or, trap me in some sort of mental ward that isn't as easy to get out of as the one that Bill's mind set up." That prompted another arrested look on Snape's face, but if he stopped to explain everything, he'd be here _forever._ "Although even that one I doubt I could have gotten out of without –" _Tom's help. Yes, let's stop that sentence right there, thanks. _"—well, anyway. I _really_ don't think it would help. He'd probably think I was lying."

"He's a terribly curious man, our Headmaster." Professor Snape pointed out. "He'd probably let you stay relatively free at least long enough to pass on your message, simply out of sheer curiosity. And would he really think you were lying? About the safety of other students?"

Harry grimaced. "I guess he _did_ believe me about the Chamber of Secrets. Probably."

"… And when it comes down to it, do you have any better options?"

Harry sighed. For all the thinking he'd done, he hadn't been able to come up with anyone else who came as close to meeting all the necessary constraints. _And even if he does trap me, he'll probably get curious about what my intentions are at some point. I should have some opening. _He closed his eyes. _And if him finally prying my last name out of me is what it takes – if that's the only way I can get him to listen – then … I guess that's what I'll have to do. I just hope it doesn't come to that. _

He re-opened them, looking up into his professor's eyes one last time, just in case maybe the previous time had been a fluke. Still nothing. And sighed. "No, I don't. … Lead on, Professor." _Let's get this over with. _

… _And hope I don't have cause to regret it._

# # # # #

As Harry explained the situation, Professor Dumbledore's face – already grave upon seeing the non-corporeal boy – grew progressively more so. Once Harry had run out of words – and it was clear just from looking at him that his Potions Professor did not intend to add anything further – he sat back in his chair, steepled his hands, and sighed. "This does indeed sound like a conundrum. And I can understand why you might not have wished to come to me directly – my mind is not precisely the easiest area to navigate for the unwary."

Harry, who had glossed over his less-than-stellar relationship with the Dumbledore of the past, refrained from pointing out that that hadn't been his real reason at all. It was, after all, a perfectly logical one.

"However, I agree with your assessment that – assuming that you have correctly identified the pattern in your jumps between here and there – I appear to be the only real remaining option, if you don't think you can risk waiting."

Harry shook his head. "There have been times before when I've spent less than ten minutes here, but when I return, months have passed. It doesn't seem to be consistent, though, so … I'm almost certainly too late already, but … I have to try."

Dumbledore nodded. "I wish you luck, and I hope for your sake and theirs that you are not too late." He smiled. "I wish you luck, too, in navigating my mind. Just keep calling, and I'm sure my former self will find you and listen to your plea."

_It's the second one I doubt. _ But Harry held his peace. If he had a better option, he would have taken it already. "Thanks, Professor." He simply replied, instead.

_Here goes nothing …_

He raised his head, and looked directly into Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes.

# # # # #

Harry had almost – _almost_ – become accustomed to the swirl of images that surrounded him when he was thrown through time in one direction or the other. The fact that even after he, as far as he could tell, had settled down into his new position in the past, he was still surrounded by a very similar, and certainly similarly disorienting swirl was new, though.

He poked at one of the images, curious, causing it to pop into the foreground – a young man with auburn hair, who he thought was probably Dumbledore though he couldn't precisely put his finger on what it was about the man's face that made him think so, stood next to a young woman seated in a chair. He didn't recognize the girl, and when the image started moving and maybe-Dumbledore opened his mouth, Harry quickly shoved the image away. He had more important things to do right now than indulge his curiosity, and absolutely no interest in losing his already slim chance of making himself heard and believed because he decided to waste time sticking his nose where it didn't belong.

_That said, _he thought as he looked around at the, as far as he could tell, infinite array of images that surrounded him on all sides (including up and down, which was incredibly disconcerting and made Harry swear to himself not to look down again), _I have no idea how to actually get to a point where I _can_ do something other than just waste time poking into things that aren't my business._

He took a tentative step forward, sighing in relief as the image just below where his foot came down widened into a platform and darkened. _At least I'm not going to be setting them off every time I step on them._ He took a few more tentative steps, progressively relaxing – and feeling less of a need to spend the entirety of his attention on his feet – as, once he reached the edge of the first picture, another arrived to take its place. He turned around to look back, but whatever had prompted his strange path to appear, it disappeared just as quickly, leaving no sign of his passage beyond the one picture on which he stood.

He decided that turning to look back was also needlessly disorienting, and decided not to do that in the future, either.

Curious, once he reached the edge of the next image, he tried to turn and go in a different direction. Another image rose to form a platform, just like before. _So there's not even a hint as to what direction I'm supposed to go …_

Feeling more than a bit silly, he cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted. "Hello? Professor Dumbledore? Headmaster? Can you hear me?"

The disorienting swirl of images suddenly stopped.

Harry looked around, but there didn't seem to be any other change, other than the oddest feeling – probably simply because the images _had_ stopped – that something was listening. "Professor? If you can hear me, can you tell me what day it is? Is it still during the Easter holidays? 1977? If so, you have to listen to me, two of your students are in very great –"

The images started swirling again, much faster than before, and feeling much closer than before. One came within a few inches of his head; another he had to duck to avoid or it _would_ have hit.

"Professor, please listen to me, it's _important_ –"

Then three came almost at once, at slightly different angles, and he stepped back and back again, expecting something to be there –

– Except there wasn't, just empty space beneath his heel, not enough of the front of his shoe still on the image to do anything except throw him off balance further, and then he was falling –

– Hitting a solid surface that knocked the breath out of him. Or did it, when he wasn't sure he was even breathing, in this strange mental landscape? He rolled to a seated position, noticing as he did that the image he had landed on was darkened; that several other images were moving towards him, flat, then slotting into place with the one he sat on, darkening as well. He stayed seated as the platform below him expanded further – wondering idly if that meant that he'd actually made some progress, and the Headmaster was building a place for them to talk. Then the images started curving upwards as they slotted into place, still turning dark as they set themselves.

When the darkened area reached the height of his head, he shot to his feet, turning around, suspicion coloring his mind. This no longer looked like a nice platform for a pleasant chat, it looked like – _He's turning it into a prison._ "Professor, please stop this! I don't mean any harm, I'll leave as soon as you _listen_ to me!"

The walls – for walls they definitely were now – had reached about chest height, and showed no signs of stopping.

"Your students – Bill Weasley and Claudius Malfoy – they're in danger! Voldemort has them in his grasp, and as soon as he realizes they're not going to go along with his little plans, he's certain to _kill_ them!"

Even with the top of his head, now. He ran over and grabbed onto one edge, trying to hoist himself up, but once slotted together and darkened, the images formed a solid wall, only the pictures themselves giving any indication as to where the boundaries between them used to be. Then he had to let go when another image came bearing down on the place his fingers currently clung, and showed no signs of stopping – he didn't want to see what happened if his fingers were still there when the image set into place; probably he'd _really_ be trapped then.

"I'll tell you my name! I'll tell you my history! I'm stuck in your mind, surely you must have some way of making me tell the truth, so you'll know I'm not lying! Just stop wasting your time trying to trap me and _save them! Please!_"

The walls were now well taller than him, and starting to curve inward. _He's seriously trying to trap me here, without talking to me or anything. And either he's deliberately not listening, or I'm buried so deep in his mind that this is just – instinct, or something. _

He eyed the image walls slowly growing towards each other; could imagine with ease the point at which they would meet, how the final image would slot into place, leaving a hemisphere with no cracks, and no Riddle to know the details of the ward and its weak points – if it even had any, this was _Professor Dumbledore_, after all – and help him figure out how to escape it.

He'd be trapped. And if the amount of response he'd gotten was any indication, probably for good.

_I can't … I can't take that risk, that if I just wait around here he'll eventually get around to taking a look at me. If I'm not too late already, I _certainly_ would be by then. And if there's _any _chance … _

He closed his eyes to help himself to do a mental survey of his state – forced them back open when he realized just how nice they felt closed. _Just barely less exhausted than before. I _might_ be able to make a jump back to the future. Maybe. Assuming getting out of his head works like getting out of Bill's did. _

The hole at the top of what was to become his prison slowly continued to shrink.

He quickly shook his head. _What am I thinking? I'm a Gryffindor, running off half-cocked is what we do best._ _Besides, better to be splinched – even splinched across two different time periods and likely two different universes as well – than to be trapped _knowing_ I've failed. _

He closed his eyes again, firmly shoving away the exhaustion that threatened to take hold as he dug deep for the strength to pour into the coil of power that would – hopefully – propel him out of here. _Just a little bit longer …_ _hold on a little bit longer, find _someone_ to get your message across to, and then you can rest. _

One last vain try – "If this is still Easter, Bill and Claudius are at Silverthorne Manor!" He shouted, though he was now fairly certain no one was listening. "Voldemort is, too! You could catch him if you go now!"

Still nothing, but the inexorably approaching pictures, and the creeping panic that made Harry sure that if he didn't go, _now_, he'd be too late.

He turned the entirety of his attention back to feeding the sense of coiled power in the depths of his mind, his body tensing as he prepared to make the jump. He was running short on both power and time, his body swaying with the exhaustion that seemed to have suffused every bone, there was only space for four or five images left at the top of the dome, and the power he'd gathered wasn't as much as he'd used before; he didn't know if it was going to be enough.

_It _will_ be enough. Because it has to be. _

Shoving the last dregs of power he could pull together in, he dimly felt his body collapse, couldn't see whether there was still an opening left at the top of the dome, just had to assume and hope that there was, as he squeezed his eyes tighter, pictured the Hogwarts of his time, the people he knew there, thought _Take me – there!_ and released.

_Please_.

# # # # #

Harry staggered back into existence at the back of the Headmaster's office – deeper than he'd ever been before, but reassuringly just as full of small objects that were strange, shiny, or both – and fell almost completely through one of the cases of such objects before he regained at least enough control to extract himself from the cabinet.

_That was … a really bad idea. I can't believe I made it out in one piece._ He blinked. _Come to think of it – eyes, two ears, still have my nose, both arms and legs, fingers look fine _– he wiggled them at himself in confirmation – _and I can't see my toes, but it _feels_ like they're all there. Getting out of there in one piece – check. _

He swayed – he was about to say 'on his feet', but as he drifted sideways, almost into the cabinet again, he realized that given that he no longer properly stood on anything at all, that wasn't an entirely accurate statement. _So. Tired. But – I have to keep going. Have to find someone else. Just in case I'm in time, somehow. I'll never forgive myself if I could have made it back, but somehow didn't just because I was 'too tired'. _

So he forced his focus back outward, and was a bit surprised to realize that he could hear an indistinct murmur of voices, and that he thought he recognized the tones of the person currently speaking as those of the Headmaster. _Maybe Snape's still here, and they're still talking? If I spent almost no time here back there, then maybe that's a sign that if I get back soon enough, I'll still be in time. _

He drifted forward, still occasionally listing to one side or the other – it just wasn't worth the effort to force himself to move straight. Then froze, when he realized that the other person had started speaking, that he recognized the tone of voice and was now close enough to understand the words as well, and that it was most definitely _not_ Snape.

"—Still don't understand why you've made _me_ come _here_." His aunt's shrill voice proclaimed. "If the boy got himself into trouble again, well _that's_ nothing new, and nothing you've needed to drag me all the way out here for before – out in the middle of nowhere, to a place that by all rights I shouldn't even be able to see, much less be sitting inside of, surrounded by even _more_ freakish objects."

The Headmaster cleared his throat, sounding a bit uncomfortable. "Yes, well … I'm afraid I'm brought you here to impart some bad news …"

"If he's too injured to come back to the normal world over the summer, that's fine." His aunt said dismissively. "Just keep him here, or board him with those freak friends of his, do whatever you like."

"Would that I could." The Headmaster said, quietly. "Unfortunately, the news I bear is even graver than that. I am afraid your nephew has passed away."

"I ask that you think of his passing with pride, for he took with him the newly resurrected Lord Voldemort, and thus single-handedly prevented the peace that we've had for these past fourteen years from being shattered. However, I also recognize that that that is little solace to one who has just lost a precious member of their family."

"Oh." His aunt sounded faintly surprised. "Is that all?"

"… Yes, that was the news I wished to pass on." A metallic scraping noise. "This urn contains the ashes that were all that remained of him. They are yours to take should you wish."

"No, that's fine, you can keep it. Dreadful pattern." A quieter scraping noise, like that of a chair against a carpeted floor. Curiosity gradually overcame ingrained habit, and he began to drift forward again, though this time taking more care to remain out of sight of the two in the main part of the office, whether that meant being in the shadow of some large object or even hidden within it. Though sitting in the middle of a cabinet, with weird little _things_ happily humming halfway through his arms and a shelf literally bisecting his chest, was still a bit much. And yes, Petunia had apparently stood; as Harry watched through the slightly warped glass of the cabinet, it looked like Professor Dumbledore also decided to stand.

"It's about time, really – he's so much like both those parents of his that I'm surprised he didn't find some suitably _heroic_ –" she spat the word like a curse "—way to off himself long before now."

"Petunia …" There was a warning note in Professor Dumbledore's voice that warmed slightly the small part of him that had grown cold at this, the final proof that his aunt did not love him – never had, never would.

_On the other hand, I was pretty sure of _that_ years ago. So there's really no reason to become upset about it now._ And if he was a _bit_ upset, even so … maybe he could blame it on the exhaustion.

He felt an odd sense of pressure, and realized that it was coming from the Headmaster, who seemed to be building up _something_ big. Something that … "Please don't, Professor." He said, quietly, as he drifted forward, out of the cabinet and into plain sight of the man standing behind his desk. "It's not – she's not worth it."

Dumbledore's face was sad, but he nodded and let the sense of power dissipate, respecting Harry's request, though he did not speak. _Probably didn't want to give Aunt Petunia yet more reasons to dismiss him as a crazy old coot._

"Excuse me?" His aunt asked, incredulously. "First I'm told my nephew is dead, now you've set up some sort of trick to make it look like he's still here, like he's some kind of – ghost, and just as impertinent as he was when he was alive – assuming he even died at all, and you're not just playing some sort of spectacularly un-funny trick on me."

"I assure you, Petunia, he is in fact –"

"You can see me?" Harry interrupted, staring at her incredulously. Then repeated, with greater emphasis, "_You_ can see me? _You?!_"

"Yes!" His aunt snapped back, "Of course I can see –"

Their eyes met.

And her last word dissolved into inaudibility as the rest of the world swirled away.

# # # # #

"It seems … nice." Petunia offered hesitantly, turning the wand over in her hands. "Very … um … wand-like?"

Edwin appeared to be attempting to decide whether to be offended or not; Elle and Ronnie had gone past snickers into outright giggles and the occasional borderline-coherent snippet of sentence. After the second joke about wands as substitutes for … other things … Petunia decided that it would probably be better for all parties involved for her to stop listening. _Honestly, what are they, twelve?_

Which brought her back to Edwin. "It really is very nice." She repeated, looking for something more useful to say. "It's just … I've never held one before." Another burst of giggles from which she caught the phrase 'first time'; she had a good enough idea of what the rest of the intent of that comment had been to spare a moment for a particularly foul glare at the two giggling girls. "Lily always guarded hers like she was afraid I'd break it." Which, OK, to be fair, she had considered once or twice, when her sister had been _particularly_ insufferable. "So I don't really know what to say."

Edwin shook his head ruefully. "No, it's all right. That makes sense. Did you want to try it out, just for fun?"

Petunia shook her head, flipping the wand over to hand it back to Edwin handle-first, the way he and the others had explained was good manners. "No, that's fine. I think if I had even an ounce of magic in me, we'd know by now." Edwin was just reaching out to take it, when she suddenly stiffened, as though every muscle in her body had seized at once.

"Aunt Petunia? _Really?_" The voice was still hers, but the intonation – the _attitude_ – most definitely were not. Elle and Ronnie straightened, giggles and innuendo forgotten in the face of this … whatever it was … happening to their friend. Edwin's eyes narrowed, something about the attitude striking a tone of familiarity in his memories.

Petunia shook her head. "Never mind. Whatever. Close enough. You." She looked straight at Edwin. "Is it still Easter holidays? 1977?"

Edwin nodded warily.

Some of the stiffness faded out of Petunia's posture. "Oh good. I didn't think – I can't believe – maybe I've made it in time after all." She shook her head, tone of voice flipping back from self-directed mutter to confident, one might even say demanding. "You need to go find – I don't know, the Headmaster, someone. Tell them that Voldemort" the other three flinched "has Bill Weasley and Claudius Malfoy – they're third-years, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw – and he'll almost certainly kill them if they aren't rescued first. They're at Silverthorne Manor."

Edwin had barely opened his mouth to start to ask a question – wasn't even sure what question he was planning to ask – when, like a marionette with its strings cut, Petunia suddenly collapsed. (He chose not to examine that simile and just how _apt_ it seemed too closely.)

He cursed, and darted forward to catch her before her unconscious body (he refused to believe anything else) ran into anything likely to cause injury, like the edge of the library table at which Elle and Ronnie still sat. His wand, forgotten, slipped out of Petunia's now-slack hand to hit the ground with a clatter that had a small part of Edwin's mind wincing and gloomily contemplating needing to re-polish it. But, well, some things were more important than that.

He carefully maneuvered Petunia's body into a nearby chair, breathing a sigh of relief as he felt her pulse, steady and strong. That done, he looked up at Elle and Ronnie, one question reflected in all three of their eyes. _What on earth was that?_

Behind him, Petunia groaned and stirred; he turned just in time to see her eyes open and land, still slightly unfocused, on him. "What just happened?" She looked at Ronnie and Elle, solemn bordering on worried, and then back to Edwin. "And why are you all staring at me?"

11 November 2012


	24. Chapter 24

(11/29/2012) Aaaand … here's today's chapter!

# # # Chapter 24 # # #

_I hope Harry's been more successful than I have._ Tom thought, then grimaced. _Regardless of my bravado earlier, I can't believe I'm trusting my _life_ – such as it is – to a _Gryffindor_. A fourth-year Gryffindor. A fourth-year Gryffindor who _killed_ me. _

Though really, that last, while personally offensive to him – and while he still had _no _idea how Harry had even known how to so effectively aim straight for his only weak point like that – was perhaps the most hopeful bit of the lot. Any kid with enough balls to do that, Tom had to admit to at least grudging respect for, Gryffindor or not. _Besides, from his very minimal descriptions, he has to be the _weirdest_ ghost I've ever encountered. What sort of Gryffindor goes out by casting the Soul-Killing Curse? Especially that young?_

He sighed, propping his chin in his hand as he idly watched the view window. Not entirely sure why he bothered, given that it was currently a very uninteresting shade of black – the Weasley kid he shared a brain with was currently asleep. _It's a pity I don't get to watch his dreams. That would at least be more interesting than this. _

His thoughts turned back to Harry. _It's a pity he was so resistant to recruitment. From what I've seen so far, it sounds like a large part of my problem is that I haven't recruited sufficiently quality help. _He paused. _Though if I can inspire that level of hate in someone as young as Harry … I always knew I'd be making an enemy of Dumbledore, but perhaps it's worth investigating avenues that keep me from making quite as vehement of enemies from quite as many _other _people, given that apparently it's sometimes the other people I need to watch out for. _

His elbow slipped, jogging the chess board and causing the pieces to complain. He rolled his eyes and tipped over the white king, which provoked another round of complaints about his blatant disrespect for the rules. _At least with Harry here I had some source of entertainment, however prickly and recalcitrant that source was. Now there's nothing. _

He got up, stretched, and wandered outside, once again contemplating the great black void that now surrounded the house – starting about ten feet away from its walls on all side – instead of the pastoral hilled view that had been there before. He'd tried stepping into the void – had hoped it would take him to a place where he could take control again – but it seemed to go nowhere and have no association with anything, so eventually he'd given up and returned to the one place he knew he could at least keep an eye on what was going on.

The house, as bizarre as it was with all those bits and pieces that really didn't look like they had any business fitting together, had a strangely homey feel to it, after all. He could imagine a family – full of red-headed brats, of course – being raised here, and the thought wasn't … entirely negative. _It certainly feels more home-like than anyplace else _I've_ been expected to call – well, no matter. _

He wandered back to the living room and the view window. _Strange … it feels a great deal emptier now that Harry's left than it ever did before he arrived. _He shook off the feeling. _I just hate waiting, and hate even more having to put my fate in another's hands. That's all. _

Motion and light returned to the view window – young William was apparently waking up.

The first place his gaze went – unsurprisingly – was to the Malfoy child in the other bed. It rested there for quite a while before eventually moving on to examine the room as a whole. Tom watched with half-hearted interest – he'd noticed most of the useful things when they'd settled down the previous night, so while you never know what you might find that might be useful, he didn't hold out a whole lot of hope that he'd see anything else pertinent. On the other hand, it was still more interesting than his other options.

A soft noise, and William's gaze flew back to the Malfoy boy so quickly Tom was surprised he hadn't given himself whiplash. Another mumble, some shuffling, and the Malfoy boy sat up with a yawn, his hair standing up in all directions from sleep. "Bill?" He mumbled.

"Here." Tom's host replied, then suppressed his own yawn. "How are you doing?"

The Malfoy boy shrugged. "Well enough. It's kind of weird that nothing's happened yet …"

_Be glad of that_. Tom thought fiercely. _You have no idea how lucky you are that nothing has happened. Chances are good that you won't like it when it does. _

"I suspect it's just as well." William said, unconsciously reflecting Tom's feelings. From the jittering of the view window, he seemed to have shuddered. "I'm not sure I want to meet … the person that your father apparently brought us here to meet."

The Malfoy boy huffed a terribly unamused laugh. "Good point."

Silence fell, and Tom stood, taking a deep breath. _Time to see if this works any better now that the ward's not in the way. _He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "DO YOU KNOW THE LAYOUT OF THIS PLACE? MAYBE WE SHOULD FIGURE OUT SOME ESCAPE ROUTES." _After all … I don't have faith that we can rescue ourselves – at least not with me stuck back-seat driving for a probably-deaf driver – but that doesn't mean we have to sit around doing _nothing_. _

William yawned again. "Hey, do you know your way to the kitchen?" A low grumbling noise could be heard. "… I'm pretty hungry." He continued sheepishly.

Tom pinched his nose, and tried hard to believe that this was a sign that at least _part_ of his meaning had carried over.

_I'm counting on you, Harry. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure we're screwed. _

# # # # #

"So let me get this straight." Ronnie leaned in, fascinated to an uncomfortable degree. "You were just possessed by the spirit of –"

_:If you say 'my nephew', I _will _find a way to –:_

_:Pipe down, I know how to keep a secret. Bloody hell, you're worse than my _sister_. Though I suppose that's no surprise …:_

"—a fourth-year Gryffindor from the future." Petunia said.

Ronnie turned her gaze to Edwin. "And you had guessed that's what had happened because you've met him before? When he was possessing someone else?"

Edwin nodded. "Though in that case, we saw what I think was his real self – so he must have been body-switching or something, rather than just straight possession the way he seems to be doing to Petunia."

Ronnie shook her head. "This is so weird. Whoever heard of time-travelling ghosts?"

Elle piped up, "Well, there was that one –"

Ronnie rolled her eyes. "Outside of stories, I mean." She cocked her head. "And – that warning he gave? Has he passed on any other details?"

Petunia shook her head, looking frustrated. "He woke up just long enough to bother me with an entirely unnecessary comment a few minutes ago, but he's out like a light again now." She paused. "That's a Muggle saying. It means –"

"We know." The other three chorused.

Ronnie shook her head, looking frustrated. "There's just not enough to go on. We know that something may be happening to two third-years – or may have already happened, for all we know – and that it has to do with You-Know-Who and someplace called Silverthorne Manor." She bit her lip. "I feel like I should recognize that name, but it's just not –" She looked around at the other three, who all shrugged.

"If any one of us knew it, it would have to be you." Edwin pointed out. "Petunia, you weren't able to find anything else out?"

She shook her head. "Honestly, I'm glad the three of you were here, because I was so busy freaking out in the back of my head that I didn't even really hear what it was that he said. And then as soon as he finished saying it, he collapsed. I get the feeling that he's been driving himself pretty hard, trying to get to someone he could pass his message on to."

"Assuming he's not misinterpreting something." Elle said. "I mean, a Weasley and a Malfoy, together, over Easter vacation? In what world does that even happen?"

"Gryffindor and Slytherin, I'd agree with you." Edwin said. "… Though stranger things have happened. But Ravenclaw … it's already unusual enough to have a Malfoy in Ravenclaw, I suppose I wouldn't be shocked if he also had an unusual taste in friends."

Petunia shoved herself to her feet, pleased to see that she was relatively steady on them. "Rather than keep talking in circles, why don't we go ask the authority?" At the other three's blank looks, she rolled her eyes. "Sarah. She's a third-year, isn't she? Surely she at least knows her classmates."

The other three exchanged a chagrined look and stood as well. Edwin gestured grandly. "After you."

# # # # #

A return to the Hufflepuff common room had netted the intelligence that Sarah had recently left; one person mentioned hearing that she was going to go talk to her brother about something.

"Sarah was one of the ones complaining about Gryffindor siblings, wasn't she?" Petunia asked.

At the Gryffindor common room, the Fat Lady did not allow them to enter – "Sorry, dears, but none of you know the password, and you're not even Gryffindor" – but after a great deal of pleading and grandiose descriptions of the importance of their quest (not that they even knew for sure that the endpoint of their so-called quest even existed – but if it did, it certainly wasn't an exaggeration to say that the lives of the students were in danger), she finally unbent far enough to inform them that she had sent Sarah away, as well, to where her brother had apparently loudly and irritably announced his intentions to go not that long before.

Which led them here.

"Snape? Severus Snape?" Elle repeated, incredulous, for about the fifth time. "What sort of Gryffindor is Sarah's brother, if he chooses to associate by his own free will with _Snape_?"

"I suppose we're about to see." Ronnie said calmly, as she knocked on the door. "I doubt Sarah's actually in there, but hopefully he'll at least be willing to tell us where he sent her packing to before he tells us to sod off as well."

The door opened, and Snape stepped out, eyes quickly flicking across everyone. Petunia thought they had narrowed upon seeing her – not surprising, she supposed, if he was Harry's friend, given that she doubted strongly that anything Harry had to say about her was complimentary – but passed by without verbal comment, eventually landing on Ronnie, who still stood in front of the other three as she lowered her hand. "Yes?" The word was curt, but surprisingly not actively hostile.

Ronnie cleared her throat. "We were wondering – we had heard that a friend of ours, Sarah, might have come by here …"

Snape rolled his eyes and muttered something about his room _not_ being some sort of inter-House common room last he looked, thanks, then shook his head and stepped back. "You might as well come in, too. Pettigrew!" He called over his shoulder. "The midget one – you've got visitors."

"Ugh!" The four at the door – now just inside it as Snape closed it behind them – exchanged a look of amusement at the depths of disgust expressed in that single exclamation. Sarah came bounding into view, glaring so hard at Snape that Petunia almost expected him to actually catch fire. (These people knew _magic_, after all – it wouldn't surprise her if it was possible.) "I am _not_ a midget. Oh, hey guys." And just as suddenly, all evidence of anger disappeared as she turned to her friends. "Why are you here? I didn't miss a meeting, did I?" She put both hands on her mouth. "Oops. Um."

"Meeting?" Another person appeared behind her, male, with the same dirty blond hair and somewhat stocky build; even before she spied the badge on his chest Petunia was fairly certain that this was Sarah's 'Gryffindor sibling'. "What sort of mischief have you been getting up to now, Sarah?"

"Acting like you've been caught telling a secret is one of the best ways to reveal that it is, in fact, a secret." Snape was informing Sarah, an amused look on his face. "You might as well spill now."

"Peter Pettigrew?" Edwin asked. "Sarah, when you said you had a Gryffindor sibling, I didn't realize you meant one of the _Marauders_. How did you survive childhood?"

"I was not that bad." Peter said.

"Sorry, lying doesn't come naturally to me." Sarah said to Snape.

"It's not a matter of being natural, it's just common sense." Snape replied, still smirking. "Now, what was this about a meeting?"

"Don't worry, you didn't miss any meeting." Elle said.

Petunia squeezed her eyes shut for a few moments. When the various conversations all continued, overlapping each other, and none of them actually being of any import to the subject at hand, she reopened her eyes and cleared her throat.

Edwin recognized the warning sign and turned to face her, expectantly. Everyone else either didn't hear her or didn't pay attention. "Excuse me." Still nothing. "PEOPLE." _That _caught everyone's attention. She even thought she felt Harry stirring at the back of her head. She _could_ project pretty well, if she said so herself. Even without some silly magical charm for voice amplification. "Can we focus for a moment? Sarah."

The girl raised cocked her head. "Yes?"

"Do you know Bill Weasley – or William, I suppose? – and Claudius Malfoy? We think they're third years, like you."

The girl nodded. "Of course. Not super well – Bill's in Gryffindor and Claudius' in Ravenclaw, so I only share a couple of classes with them. I was the odd person out and ended up getting paired up with Claudius in Potions last year – he's a nice guy. Kinda quiet though. Not at all like I was expecting."

"Do you know if they're friends?"

Sarah laughed. "Of course! They've been fast friends practically since the train to Hogwarts our first year. It's the biggest scandal in our year group. No one's quite been able to figure out how they've managed to stay friends when practically everyone – including _both_ their families, I mean seriously, have you ever _seen_ Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy in a room together? I'm always expecting to see dead bodies lying around from the sheer force of malice – thinks it's the most horrible idea ever. But … somehow they've managed." She shook her head. "Sorry, probably more than you needed to know. Why, did something happen?"

Petunia exchanged a glance with Edwin. "Um. We're not sure, but … maybe?"

"Then we absolutely need to go help them!" Sarah said immediately, gesturing wildly. "Where are they? What happened? Do we need to mount a rescue mission?"

"We got … a message." Edwin hedged. "Saying that they were being held at Silverthorne Manor, and that You-Know-Who might be involved. The bearer of the message didn't really know whether something was going to happen, or had already happened, but he seemed pretty sure that their lives were in danger. And unfortunately his message was cut off before we had a chance to ask any clarifying questions."

_:Sorry about that.:_ Harry's voice sounded sheepishly in Petunia's head, accompanied by something that felt oddly like a yawn. _:That was about two jumps past what I thought was my limit, so I guess I just … collapsed. Have you gone to find a professor yet? If we _are_ still in time, there's no time to waste. I don't know how long T – well, how long they'll be able to delay the inevitable.:_

"Who is this messenger?" Snape asked, eyes narrowed again. "Can he or she be trusted? And, pardon the rude question, but – why did he or she come to _you_?"

_:You don't need to be cagey around them.: _Harry commented. _:They both know me. I've actually inhabited both their heads before.:_

"It's Harry." Petunia said. Edwin turned to her, a clear question in his face – but as Harry had implied, just that simple statement was apparently more than enough for both Peter and Snape.

They exchanged a glance, and silently Snape disappeared into the depths of his room, while Peter turned his attention fully to Petunia. "Is he … available? Awake? … now? Since you mention his message was cut off."

Petunia nodded. "Sounds like it was a simple case of exhaustion. He still feels pretty tired to me, but he's woken back up now and seems to be responding coherently."

Snape nodded, a sense of relief about his face although he didn't forget himself so far as to actually smile. "Can he fill in any of the details? Well, first, since it sounds like time is an issue – when did he find out his information, and how long does he think we have?"

_:The afternoon of the day Easter Break started, I was in Bill's head.:_ Harry said, and Petunia could almost feel him pushing away his still very real exhaustion. _Focus._ She told herself, and belatedly hoped that Harry wasn't listening, then returned to the subject at hand and relayed Harry's words.

_:He decided to go home with Claudius – except Mr. Malfoy didn't take them home the way Claudius and Bill expected, but somewhere else via a _very_ circuitous route. Claudius recognized it as Silverthorne Manor, we heard some things that made me pretty sure that Voldemort –: _Petunia, familiar with her friends' little issues with that name, substituted 'You-Know-Who' because frankly, she wasn't in the mood for the delay that the gasps and shushing noises would introduce, no matter how minor. _ :– was involved, and we decided that was enough information that I should try to go for help.:_

"… And now here you are." Snape concluded. "Well, it's only just Saturday – a bit after lunch – now, so it sounds like you've managed to make it here in less than a day. Hopefully that's soon enough." His eyes narrowed. "'We?' You and the Weasley boy, I assume – did Malfoy also know of your existence?"

Harry hesitated, for long enough that Petunia got impatient. "Oh, just spit it out already." At the surrounding group's quizzical looks, she shook her head. "Sorry. Not you. Him." She pointed to her head.

The hesitation continued for a bit longer, but Petunia thought she could feel it wavering. Finally Harry folded. _:Neither Bill nor Claudius knows there might be help coming. I never actually managed to communicate with Bill – he had me pretty thoroughly trapped. There was another presence trapped in his head, too, who I worked out the plan with. I _think_ we can trust him. He's got a pretty strong self-preservation instinct, at least.: _

Petunia relayed that all, adding on her own assessment – "He sounded pretty doubtful. And like he was choosing his words very carefully. I suspect we wouldn't approve of this friend of his."

_:He's _not_ my friend.: _Harry protested vehemently. _:Just … someone I think we can trust to do the right thing, as long as the right thing aligns with his own priorities. Which given that he's currently trapped in Bill's head with no way out, essentially means keeping Bill alive.: _

"If You-Know-Who is actually there, though, convincing the Weasley kid to join him rather than resisting would lead to a higher chance of survival, I'd think." Peter pointed out, exiting Snape's room to join the rest of them, tossing Snape his wand and cloak before holstering and putting on his own, respectively. "So if self-preservation is all we have to go on …"

_:Surprisingly, he doesn't seem to be terribly impressed with Voldemort. And he doesn't like to share.:_

Snape's eyes had narrowed still further, and he stared at Petunia with a very unsettling look on his face – one that made her dearly wish that Harry was elsewhere for reasons that had nothing to do with the fact that she had no interest in having anyone else in her head, much less a boy wizard (she wasn't sure which of those two made it worse), much less a boy wizard who was theoretically her _nephew_. (And that was an additional level of bizarre that she'd really rather not think about too closely, if that was all right.)

"Bill Weasley … presence trapped in his head already …" He muttered, just loudly enough for Petunia to catch it. Then his eyes widened. "Is this that spirit from that diary of his several months ago?"

_:Shit. Why'd he have to remember that?: _Harry thought. Petunia wasn't entirely sure he'd meant for her to hear him, given that despite using her as a mouthpiece, he seemed to have almost completely forgotten her existence.

"You're _trusting_ a young version of _Voldemort_?" Snape didn't quite yelp, but his voice definitely hit a pitch far higher than Petunia had heard come out of him before. "Are you _mad_?"

_:I didn't have a lot of choice – it was either trust him, or stay trapped with him permanently.: _Harry sounded very sour. Petunia waited until the uproar from the other members of the room died down to relay his statement – which just prompted another round of noisy agreements with Snape's assessment of Harry's sanity when he confirmed that Snape had been correct. _:Oh for – we don't have time for this. _Especially_ if you trust Tom Riddle with two innocent third years even less than I do.: _

Petunia passed this on as well, retaining the exasperation but tempering the words themselves slightly, then with a look to Peter and Snape, added "Oh, and Tom Riddle is –"

"You-Know-Who's original name." Peter said impatiently. "We know."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Though I'd be curious to know how you – well, not important. As you say, we have more immediate problems to worry about. Silverthorne Manor, I believe you said?" Petunia, after a silent double-check with Harry, nodded. "All right, next order of business is to find out where that is – if we want to have any chance of success, we'll need a general idea of the lay of the land at the very least, and ideally some knowledge of the inside of the building, though I doubt we'll manage that much." He eyed Elle and Ronnie. "Is either of you familiar with the location?"

Elle shook her head, raising her hands in a motion of surrender. "Muggleborn. I've been to Ronnie's place once, but that's about it."

Ronnie shook her head. "It sounds vaguely familiar, but I can't quite put my finger on it … I think it was the main house for one of the fairly prominent Slytherin families, but well – I suppose that much was obvious given who's probably currently guesting there."

"Slytherin … I'd guess you don't know either?" Petunia asked Snape who, looking sour, shook his head. "What about Violet? Maybe she'll know."

Edwin stepped backwards. "Good idea. I'll get an emergency meeting called – we should probably let the others know about this anyway. The more heads putting together this plan, and the more wands we have on the table, the better."

"Assuming that there is in fact a rescue that needs to occur." Ronnie's voice brought Edwin up short about halfway to the door. "—And mind you, I'm not trying to say Harry's lying or mistaken or anything – it's just, is it really our place to be the ones to execute the rescue? I mean, _we_" and here her gesture included everyone except Sarah, who looked disgruntled but didn't comment outright "may be within a couple of months of graduating and thus arguably adults. But we've also got several younger students in our group. And even with us, isn't a rescue striking at the heart of You-Know-Who's _stronghold_, for crying out loud, more the sort of thing that we should be calling in seasoned Aurors, or at the very least our professors to do instead?"

"The professors are a no-go." Elle said. Everyone turned to look at her. "Most of them are with their families for Easter, I've heard – and of the ones left, apparently Dumbledore is holding some sort of summit over the break that almost everyone is attending."

_:Typical.:_ Harry said – another comment Petunia wasn't sure she was meant to hear.

"Oh come on." Ronnie said. "Surely they're not leaving the school _unattended._ There may not be many of us, but there _are_ still students here!"

Elle scratched the side of her nose. "Well, not completely unattended. But if I recall correctly, all that are left are Professor Trelawny, Mr. Filch, and the groundskeeper – Hagrid, right?" Ronnie rolled her eyes, and Elle smirked. "That's what I thought."

Harry, Petunia noticed, had perked up at the last name … but rather than saying anything, went rather suspiciously quiet. "Could this Hagrid person help us?" She asked.

"I don't think so." Edwin said. "He doesn't have a wand – rumor has it that he was expelled from Hogwarts, but Dumbledore liked him so he let him stay." He raised an eyebrow. "Why the interest in Hagrid in particular?"

The silence on Harry's end turned even more suspicious. "All right, out with it." Petunia said impatiently. "If you know something to help, just say it – weren't you the one worried about wasting time?" Everyone turned to look at Petunia, who abruptly looked chagrined. "Sorry. Talking to Harry – he seems to know something about Hagrid. I don't entirely have a handle on the difference between speaking out loud and speaking internally yet."

The gazes on her intensified, and Petunia couldn't help the small smirk of triumph as she could feel Harry fold to a combination of peer pressure and the fact that she was making no secret of the fact that she intended not to do anything until she had her answer. _:I _really_ don't like you sometimes, you know that?:_

_:Oh, you mean you actually _do _like me occasionally? Now there's a surprise.:_

That actually startled a laugh out of the spirit. _:Fair point. I suspect it's not nearly as interesting as you or anyone else thinks it is – just, Hagrid _does_ still have a wand. It's hidden in that horrid pink umbrella he carries –: _

"Let me guess." Peter said, upon receiving that information. "Gift from the Headmaster?"

_:… I don't know, but it wouldn't surprise me. Anyway, he still probably won't be of much help except perhaps if he knows a way to contact the Headmaster – the rumor that he was expelled from Hogwarts _is_ true, though he was innocent of the crime he was accused of. So he doesn't have even as much formal schooling as the little blonde girl – Sarah, is that it?:_

"I agree." Snape said, when Petunia relayed Harry's assessment, then eyed Petunia. "Do you know random secrets from _everyone's_ past?"

_:Just the ones that contribute to my annual death-defying adventures.: _Harry said, almost cheerfully.

_:That's not the only reason you were hesitating to say anything, was it?: _Petunia asked.

Harry paused for a long moment, then sighed and admitted, _:No. He's also a good friend of mine – he was the one who introduced me to the Wizarding World. So … it's selfish of me, but … if possible, I'd like to keep him out of danger.: _

He paused. _:Hey wait. You had no problem with talking mentally to me just now. And you did it a couple times earlier, too. Were you just faking me out to increase the pressure on me to say something?:_

Petunia smirked again. _:Maybe.:_

_:… I _really_ don't like you, you know that, right?:_

# # # # #

"… When you said you were going to gather the group, I must admit I was expecting … more." Severus said as he looked across the table near the back of the library that was, according to Petunia, their usual meeting spot. The only new face compared to their impromptu gathering in his rooms (he wondered if just stopping answering the door would work? … With Peter, probably not) was one that he was mildly surprised to actually recognize. "Aren't you Evan's little sister?"

"And you're his blood traitor ex-friend." Violet said, looking equally unimpressed. "At least, I think that's what he was saying – he gets kind of incoherent when he's angry."

Severus didn't quite catch the nostalgic half-smile before it escaped. "He does, doesn't he?" He shook his head, turning his sharp gaze to Edwin. "More to the point – are we waiting on anyone else, or shall we proceed?"

Edwin spread his hands in a helpless half-shrug. "I think this is it. Everyone else seems to have gone home for Easter break."

"Excuse the obvious question." Violet said, neither looking nor sounding terribly sorry, "But speaking of expectations, what are _they_" her gesture indicated Severus in particular, and seemed to offhandedly include Peter as well "doing here?"

Severus shrugged. _Where Harry goes, I follow … insofar as I can._ "Given that this conversation started in my rooms, I have a certain amount of curiosity as to how it will end."

Peter snorted. "I'm a Gryffindor. Do I _need_ an excuse to invite myself along on a rescue mission?"

"Rescue mission?" Violet asked, tone politely incredulous. She turned her attention to Petunia. "Explain, if you please."

Petunia waved her hand. "It's a long story. Basically, I've been possessed by some kid from the future who's also been bouncing around this time period possessing various other people – don't ask, I don't know how it works either – and he claimed that a couple of other kids – Bill Weasley and Claudius Malfoy – are being held somewhere called Silverthorne Manor, where apparently You-Know-Who also is, and are apparently likely to die if we don't do something about it." She smiled. "… And on that subject, we're really hoping that you know something about this Silverthorne Manor place, because otherwise we'll be going in completely blind."

Violet blinked. "I don't even know where to –" she shook her head sharply. "Never mind. I should _hope_ I know something about Silverthorne Manor, given that it's my parents' primary residence." She leaned forward, intent, even as everyone else made various noises of surprise. "How _sure_ is this ghost … person … whatever, that You-Know-Who is there at Silverthorne Manor? And how sure is he that it really is Silverthorne Manor?"

Petunia rolled her eyes upward and scrunched up her face slightly. Severus wondered if it had been quite so obvious – or so ridiculous looking – when he'd held private conversations with Harry. He dearly _hoped_ not.

"For obvious reasons he didn't wait long enough to actually _see_ You-Know-Who." Petunia reported after a moment. "But someone he calls 'Goyle Sr.' greeted them at the back gate, and held a short conversation with Mr. Malfoy in which 'He'" the capital letter was obvious "was mentioned several times in a context that made it sound highly likely that he was there." She made an impatient gesture. "Does it really matter if You-Know-Who is there, given that we know that the kids are? Our purpose is to rescue them, not defeat You-Know-Who, after all."

Sarah snorted. "You say that as though it were possible."

_Well._ Severus thought, as he very carefully did not look at Peter, _one of our number already _has_ …_

Violet nodded sharply. "Good enough for me." She looked around. "Does anyone have some parchment? If we're going to properly prepare for this ridiculous death trap of a mission, we'll need a map …"

23 November 2012


	25. Chapter 25

(11/30/2012) I suppose since I haven't done a disclaimer in a while (oops ) I should remind everyone that Harry Potter still doesn't belong to me …

Hope you enjoy this next chapter!

# # # Chapter 25 # # #

"Well, I think that about settles it." Violet said, as she began to roll the map up. "It's not perfect, but … I suspect it's about as good as we're going to get."

Snape, who'd quickly taken on the role of primary strategist, nodded his agreement. He slanted a glance at Petunia – or, more accurately, at Harry. "I apologize for excluding you from the plans, but I really think it's best you stay here. In a non-magical host …"

Petunia looked briefly irritated at being referred to so blatantly as a 'host', but let it pass. "We agree." She said with a sigh. "We both want to be there, obviously – but without a way to protect ourselves, we'd just get in the way."

Snape leaned forward in his chair. "And you're sure you can't think of anything else that might be of use to us?"

Petunia shook her head. "Harry's told you – well, told me, I guess – everything he can think of. So theoretically, there's no real reason we need to be there."

Violet's elbow swung out a bit wide as she shoved the map across the table, bumping against her wand and sending it skittering across the table to fall off the edge. Petunia, sitting at that corner of the table, leaned over to pick it up. "Here you –" she paused, expression suddenly arrested, posture still half bent over.

"Um." Violet said hesitantly. "Petunia? Thanks, but I'd actually like my wand back …"

She shook her head. "Right. Sorry." There was something a bit off about her intonations – a slightly clipped feel to the words that hadn't been there before – as she straightened and gave the wand a considering look. "I wonder …" She switched the wand to a proper grip in her right hand. "Lumos."

"Hey!" Violet said, understandably irritated by the sudden appropriation of her wand. "What are you – whoa."

Everyone around the table fell still, staring at the wand in Petunia's hand – or, to be more accurate, at its gently glowing tip.

"Huh, this one's actually fairly well suited to me." Petunia said in a considering tone, then looked up into everyone's stares. "Oh. Sorry. This is Harry in control now. Apparently we switch when she touches a wand?" She grinned, shark-like, as she looked at Snape. "And apparently I still have my magic, even though Petunia herself doesn't have any. So? Does that mean we get to go after all?"

Snape shook his head, half-smiling. "Only you, Harry … and yes, I suppose it does."

"Does Petunia mind?" Edwin asked, bristling slightly. "I don't want her put in danger if she's not okay with it. Especially if she's going to be out of control of her body for the duration."

The girl in question – well, her body at least – adopted a faraway look for a moment, before returning her attention to Edwin. "She says she's fine with it. … When it comes down to it, she didn't really want to be left behind either."

Edwin calmed. "Well then … OK. As long as she's fine with it."

Snape reached into his pocket and drew out a long, thin object that he tossed to Harry. "There you go – I suspect Rosier wants hers back."

Harry caught it, his eyes lighting up when he got his first good look at it. "Oh wow, my wand!" He absently rolled the other wand towards Violet, who snatched it back up, but most of his attention was on the yew wand that he had acquired … it seemed like forever ago. He looked up at Snape "… Not that I don't appreciate it, but why on Earth were you carrying it with you?"

The older Slytherin shrugged, smirking slightly. "I just had a feeling it might come in handy."

"All right then." Harry stood abruptly. "From what I saw, it looked like we were pretty much done. Is everyone ready to get this show on the road?"

The four members of Petunia's crew – Sarah had, after much loud and at times obscene protest, been sent off to find one of the few remaining teachers and attempt to enlist their aid in sending additional support in case the rescue mission turned out to need a rescue mission of their own – looked a bit uncertain at this change. But between the fact that Petunia had already been their de facto leader (if a rather different Petunia than this) and that the two other seventh-years seemed content to let Harry take the lead … they shrugged and went with it.

At least until shortly before the library doors, when Violet stopped short and groaned.

The rest of the group stopped and turned back to her. "What?" Harry asked.

Violet shook her head, a mocking smile rising to her lips. "Oh, nothing. It just occurred to me that, my previous remarks aside, I am about to be led into magical battle – or someplace with the potential to turn into one, at least – by a Muggle after all."

# # # # #

_:So you tap a random statue and say a random password, and a passageway out of the castle magically opens?: _Petunia asked, skeptically. _:You wizards are so weird. Haven't you ever heard of doors?: _

From the doubtful looks on several of the others' faces, she was not the only one with those concerns. However, they seemed at least somewhat mollified by the fact that both Peter and Harry claimed that it was true. _:It's not random – it's a very specific statue and a very specific password.: _Harry said, mildly exasperated, as they made their way up to the third floor. _:… But yes. Wizards can be rather weird at times, much as I hate to admit it.: _

When they reached the appropriate location, Harry hung back and allowed Peter to be the one to tap the statue of the one-eyed witch. "Dissen—"

The secret passageway opened.

"You don't even need the full password?" Edwin asked doubtfuly. "That makes even less –"

Then their group got their first good look at what was on the other side of the statue. And James, Sirius, and Remus got a good look at them.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

# # # # #

"He will see you now."

William – and from the corner of his vision, it looked like the Malfoy boy, too – looked up at the black-robed man who had just entered through their door and made his announcement. Tom, for his part, immediately abandoned his attempt to challenge himself at a game of chess – it wasn't going well; he found it terribly offensive that even if he was winning, that also meant that he was losing, and he _hated_ to lose – to turn his full attention to the view window as well.

And cursed silently as the meaning of the man's words sunk in. _Being taken to see _him_ already? I had hoped we had at least one more day. Well, now we're almost certainly screwed – if Harry isn't here yet, I sincerely doubt that he'll be here in time to do any good now. _

His mind rapidly flitted through the possible options – of which there weren't many.

The Malfoy boy stood – pale but not otherwise showing his fear; it was a pity about his apparent loyalties since from what Tom had seen he was tentatively impressed. "We understand. Could you give us a moment to prepare? We wouldn't want to be unpresentable in front of Him."

The black-robed man looked a bit irritated, but apparently couldn't be bothered to press the issue; he simply nodded and left the room – leaving the door cracked open just enough for William (and thus Tom) to see that he had taken up position outside. _No hope of escape there … not that I was really expecting any. _

The Malfoy boy came over to William and leaned in – not uncomfortably close (at least not to William, apparently, given that he showed no signs of leaning away, though Tom was beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic), but nearly so. "You should probably at least take off your Gryffindor robe." He said quietly, gesturing to his own non-school-robe-clad form. "They've got spare robes hanging in the closet, Merlin knows why." He ruffled William's hair – a truly appalling shade of red, from what Tom recalled. "No one will forget that you're a Weasley, not with your hair … but we can at least not rub their faces in it. Maybe that will help."

Tom eyed the Malfoy boy with respect. (Though really, could he please _back off_?) That was … not a bad idea, actually. Albeit one he could think of a minor improvement to – but then, the boy _was_ only a third year, and Tom _was_ Lord Voldemort, after all. "YOU SHOULD HIDE YOUR ROBE SOMEWHERE." He shouted. "SO THAT IF SOMEONE DOES COME FOR US THEY'LL SEE IT AND KNOW THAT WE WERE HERE." A more optimistic person might have said 'when', but that had never been one of Tom's faults. At least not when it came to depending on other people.

The Malfoy boy moved away, and William's vision momentarily went black as he pulled his Gryffindor robe over his head and off. He balled it up and tossed it under the Malfoy's bed; Tom sighed but let it go. _I suppose that's better than folding it nicely and putting it out where anyone can see._

William caught the robe the Malfoy boy tossed his way and shrugged it on, then reached up and did … something to his hair. Patting it down, perhaps, though from what Tom had seen, it was likely a lost cause. (Though not quite as much of a lost cause as Harry's hair – which Tom would not have believed if he hadn't seen.)

The two boys looked at each other. William took a deep breath – deep and loud enough that Tom could hear it. The Malfoy boy half-smiled. "Ready?"

William nodded. "Ready."

Tom smirked to cover his own nervousness. _Ready. Let's see whether my older self has lived up to my plans for the future or not after all – because so far, I'm _not_ terribly impressed._

# # # # #

"Count me in." James and Sirius said instantly, as soon as the situation had been explained to them. "Even having to work with _Snape_ couldn't keep me from coming." Sirius added, with a virulent glare in said Slytherin's direction. "What were you doing with _him_, anyway, Wormtail?"

"Is that really important right now?" Peter asked, exasperated. "We're … something. Friends I guess." As both of them opened their mouths, outrage clear on their faces, he cut them off. "Not. Important. You can give me the third degree or ream me out or whatever _later_." He turned his attention to Remus, who had been watching Petunia with an intense and somewhat conflicted look. "What about you, Moony?"

Remus blinked, startled. "Oh. I'm coming, of course."

Snape muttered something uncomplimentary about Gryffindors and their ability to follow plans that had been rather carefully laid out, thank you very much, and were already likely to be problematic, which caused James and Sirius to, of course, take offense. While Peter was doing his best to peacemake – at least to the point where they'd be willing to work together – Remus sidled over to Petunia and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Harry, um. We should probably talk more later." His look around encompassed all the other people that he was not particularly interested in hearing this conversation – old friends and strangers alike. "But I just wanted to say – I'm sorry. For what I said before."

Harry half-smiled back. "I'm sorry too. For what I said, for not trusting you … for running away." He held out a hand – his left, since his right still clutched his wand like a lifeline. "Friends? And yes, I'd like to talk more later, too." _If I get the chance._

Remus took his hand almost as soon as he had finished extending it, clearly not minding the awkwardness of it being their off-hands. "Of course. Forever."

A large weight fell away from Harry – it surprised him, how relieved he was. And how easy it had been. _We'll have to talk later, at length. I guess that'll be the hard part. For now …_

With a grin just for Remus that transmuted into a proud smile for their entire group – bickering James, Sirius, and Snape included – Harry turned to face forward, towards the dark passageway they'd soon be passing through.

_For now, we _fight.

# # # # #

The first part of the plan went off without a hitch – though the innkeeper looked more than a bit disturbed when the ten of them all came tumbling out of her fireplace in rapid succession. "Sorry for the mess, Mrs. Dodderidge." Violet called, as they brushed themselves off. "And for the crowd. I thought I'd come home and say hi to the parents after all – and brought some friends who mentioned they were interested in seeing our gardens."

"Oh, it's so good to see that you've made some friends, Violet dear." The older woman said with a smile. "And fellow flower-lovers, too! I know how fond you are of those gardens …"

The rest of them attempted to look like the sorts of people who would be interested in a conversation about flowers. Some, like James, pulled it off rather well. Others, like Snape …

Well. It was a good thing that the innkeeper was mostly concentrating her attention on Violet.

She made a shooing gesture. "Well, go on now – you'll want to get there while there's still plenty of light, won't you?" A pause. "Although really, it would have been far more convenient for you to just Floo home directly, wouldn't it?"

Violet smiled – broadly, but with a sly tilt to it. "But then I wouldn't have been able to introduce my friends to your wonderful cookies! I've told them that they're _more_ than worth the extra mile walk, so _do_ please tell me that you have a fresh batch available?"

"Oh, you." The woman blushed. "As it happens, I just pulled a batch out of the oven, so I have more than enough to go around."

Several minutes later, safely extracted from the inn, everyone with a cookie in hand (except Elle, who begged off due to apparently being in the middle of a diet that, according to Ronnie, she absolutely did not need; and Snape, whose dignity apparently would not support being seen in public eating a chocolate chip cookie, no matter how delicious they looked), they strolled down the street of the small village. Violet occasionally pointed out landmarks of note, acting for all the world like they were in truth what she had claimed they were at the inn – just a group of friends sight-seeing in the area around Violet's home.

"Gardens?" James enquired skeptically. "And she _bought_ that?"

Violet shrugged, clearly unconcerned with the opinion of a mere Gryffindor. "They _are_ quite beautiful and extensive. And I _am_ quite fond of them. Bringing nine other people to look at them at once is stretching things a bit, but Mrs. Dodderidge likes me well enough to overlook those minor inconsistencies."

"And dislikes your father enough to not report our movements directly to him?" Snape asked, with an eye towards the village as a whole. A few people were out – not as many as he would have expected, but it _was_ a very small village.

Violet smiled sweetly up at her fellow Slytherin. "It never hurts to have an escape route or two." She gestured towards the right, where a dirt road stretched up over a hill and disappeared. "We'll be heading that way next."

They walked along in silence for a while, everyone keeping an eye towards their feet – the road was reasonably well maintained, but there was still the occasional pothole and even more occasional manure of some unknown variety to avoid. Finally, Remus said hesitantly, "I can understand waltzing into and out of town – it seems relatively safe and attracted less attention than sneaking around probably would have. But are we really going to waltz into the manor itself? That seems to just be asking for trouble …"

"That's right, you haven't heard more than the bare bones of the plan yet." Edwin said. "We won't be waltzing in, precisely. Once we're out of sight of town we'll be Disillusioning ourselves to reduce the risk of discovery, and then Violet knows a back way into the manor that we hope will be less well guarded."

"Hope?" Remus asked.

"I left pretty as soon after they arrived as I could and still have confirmed what I needed to." Harry said. "So I'm afraid aside from seeing Goyle Sr. at the back gate, I didn't get a chance to confirm anything useful like number or placement of guards."

"Ah. Right." He went quiet, then cast a significant look at James and Sirius, primarily the former. Severus noticed the look but, not knowing what it might possibly be about, held his peace and watched for further clues; Harry thought he had a good idea what it might be about and perked up, also watching more closely.

James caught Remus' look, looked briefly conflicted, cast a pointed glance at Snape, then looked back at Remus. Remus raised an eyebrow, but continued looking steadily at James.

Finally, James folded. "I can do you one better than that." He finally said, reluctantly, and reached into his pocket. "It only fits one person, though."

What he pulled out was shimmering folds of … something that wavered at the edges of sight, almost visible in motion but completely impossible to see otherwise. Snape threw up his hands. "Of _course_ he would have an Invisibility Cloak."

"Who should wear it?" Ronnie asked.

Gazes all turned towards Petunia, even as James drew the cloak closer to himself, as though protecting it from some unspecified person he thought might attempt to steal it. Harry shrugged. "No one of us is any more critical to this mission than any other. Unless anyone else has a strong opinion, since it's James' cloak we should probably let him keep it." Even if it pained Harry to say that, given his own strong desire to hold the cloak – his father's keepsake, and the strength of that feeling hadn't really faded even though it was his father, here and now, alive, who held it.

James nodded, then hesitated. "I don't know that I'd know the Malfoy kid on sight. I remember Bill – smart kid, I've helped him with Transfiguration homework a time or two."

Harry half-smiled. "I suspect where you find one, you'll find the other. Especially in this situation – if they aren't together, I suspect it's only because they've been forced apart." He waved a hand. "Besides, he looks like a Malfoy – I had no idea who he was the first time I met him, and even I figured out that much."

James nodded. "Got it." Then he swirled the cloak around himself and mostly disappeared, though he left the hood down so his head was still visible – seemingly floating about five and a half feet off the ground.

Snape shuddered and turned away. "Don't go haring off on your own." He said, clearly aiming his command towards James even though he continued to face forward. "I will not be responsible for rescuing you if you do."

James looked like he was considering sticking his tongue out. "I wouldn't want to be rescued by you anyway."

"Children." Peter spoke up in a long-suffering tone. "Can we please stop bickering?"

They crested the hill at last, and found themselves looking down into a valley, and nestled into the valley was a large sprawling manor – their target. Just past the crest – once they were sure they could no longer be seen from the village – the group paused long enough for everyone (except James) to put the Disillusionment Charm on themselves, and for James to raise his hood, before continuing onwards. At a somewhat slower pace, after the third time that someone tripped over something because their foot didn't land where they thought it was going to.

"Ugh. Amateurs." Violet said, with all the authority of being two years younger than everyone else (at least physically). "There's no point to being Disillusioned if you yelp every time you run into something."

"Pot. Kettle." Elle said cheerfully. Ronnie shushed them both.

The rest of the trek passed in relative silence – Edwin pulled James, Sirius, and Remus off to the side and brought them up to speed in a low tone on the parts of the plan that had been glossed over before, though that didn't take very long since the plan, such as it was, was remarkably simple:

Find Bill and Claudius, get out, and incapacitate anyone who tried to get in the way of one or both of those goals.

As they neared the manor, the seventh years all shivered almost simultaneously. "What just happened?" Harry asked in a low voice in the direction he'd last seen Peter.

Snape replied. "We just passed through the border of an Anti-Apparition ward. Which is … unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected. We'll just have to be even more careful about getting in and out without disturbing too many people."

_Here's hoping it will be that easy._

_:I hope so too.:_ Petunia said – even her mental voice was hushed in response to the subdued atmosphere of the extraction team, regardless of the fact that no one could actually hear it.

Harry frowned and tried to shore up his mental walls. He hadn't been paying a lot of attention, but he'd meant that to be a private thought – and normally it took a conscious effort from him to project his thoughts before the other person in his head could hear them. He'd gotten too used to the fact that though he could pick up on the others' stray thoughts pretty well a most of the time, his own seemed to be typically pretty well protected.

_Maybe that's where I get it from. _He thought – this time carefully privately … probably – then snorted. _Yeah right._

They reached the outer wall of the manor, and Violet's voice drifted back across the rest of the group. "Here we are. Now don't forget – _quietly._" Several tapping sounds – light enough that they were almost made inaudible by the sound of the breeze rustling through the grass and nearby trees – indicated that she was most likely tapping on bricks, though Harry couldn't see her wand well enough to have any real idea which ones. Then, with remarkably quiet scraping noises, the wall peeled away – a less flashy version of the entrance to Diagon Alley – and the group stepped into darkness and a feeling of closeness likely due to the rows of shelves that loomed to either side.

"Everyone in?" She asked, even more quietly. When after a moment, no one protested, she took that to mean 'good enough' and made another set of motions – this one even more impossible to see given that she was standing off to the side of the door and would likely have been hidden by the darkness even if she hadn't been Disillusioned – and the hidden door slid its way shut again, plunging them all into near complete darkness.

There was some shuffling and jostling, as people started moving forward, but quickly found that moving in such a tight space wasn't nearly as easy as they thought – particularly when they could see neither each other, nor the obstacles they were trying to avoid.

"Lumos." Sirius said, and the area lit up with the light from his wand.

"What are you doing, you _idiot_?" Severus hissed. "Put that out!"

"Bite me, _Snivellus_."

"Oh for the love of – _Nox_." Peter's voice interrupted. "Now will you please stop bitching and start moving?"

"_Quiet_." Several other voices hissed.

"Sorry." Peter whispered.

Somehow, despite all the jostling, occasional noises of discontent at having been jostled, and at least one instance in which someone (no one was willing to admit to who) had bumped into a shelf and knocked something off, they managed to make it through the storeroom only slightly the worse for the wear, and without having encountered any of Voldemort's men.

"I _thought_ they might have forgotten about this route." Violet said quietly, satisfied, as they reached the door. "Either that or they don't have many people here at all – and either way works well for our purposes."

Then she opened the door onto the back of some random Death Eater, yelped, jumped to the side, and as the man turned, he found himself struck in the face with three well-aimed _Stupefy_s and an _Incarcerous_.

With yet more jostling – this being disillusioned was turning out to be almost more trouble than it was worth, as far as Harry could see – they managed to pull the Death Eater back into the storeroom and propped him in a corner behind several shelves. Once Violet had once again gotten confirmation-through-silence that everyone was out of the storeroom, she closed the door and locked it.

"Isn't that our escape route?" Sirius asked.

Harry, unfortunately, had to settle for imagining the disgusted glare Violet had almost certainly shot him. He still got to hear the disdain dripping from her quiet voice. "You are a wizard, aren't you? Just unlock it again. It's not like I used anything _complicated._"

Harry was beginning to wonder if bringing the Marauders along had been more trouble than it was worth, too.

Once out into the main corridors of the mansion, though, the way got easier – the corridors were wider, better lit, and far less populated by objects that could be inadvertently knocked over. They encountered several other Death Eaters apparently just idly wandering the halls, always in ones (or, in just one instance, twos), which allowed the combination of their Disillusionment, the element of surprise, and their sheer weight of numbers to prevail with little fighting back, no injuries, and so far no sign of broader alarm.

_This feels too easy._

There had been a slightly dicey moment when a stray stunning spell hit Elle, but after someone – Edwin, Harry thought, by the sound of his voice – had tripped over her, they'd managed to get her revived and had been able to start moving again.

They'd started their search upstairs, in the west wing of the manor – both because that had been the closest to the storeroom, and because according to Violet, it held the largest number of guest rooms. They all hoped that that meant that behind one of these doors would be sitting Bill and Claudius, bored but unharmed, and then they'd be able to leave the way they came with no one the wiser.

Life didn't appear prepared to be that easy on them, though – every guest room they checked was empty. Except one that contained three Death Eaters playing cards – that had been another hairy moment. At the far end of the hall was one with two beds that had obviously been used – one bed had been made in somewhat haphazard fashion, the other left completely unmade.

They'd searched that room particularly closely, but hadn't seen anything that they thought was a clear sign that this was the room that their targets had been staying in. At least, not until Harry himself found a rolled up wad of black cloth under one of the beds that, upon straightening, turned out to be a now terribly wrinkled Gryffindor robe. He'd held it up so that the others could see, feeling strange about the fact that it probably looked like the robe was hanging in mid-air from slightly wavery nothingness. "I doubt there are any other Gryffindors around here."

"Great!" That, he thought, was also Edwin.

"… Now what?" Violet asked. "We could wait. If they're just having tea or something, they might be back soon."

The elation that had so briefly filled the room drained away again. Certainly it was _possible_, but …

"… Or if we wait, they may not return at all." Harry quietly said what everyone else was thinking, as his fists clenched, further wrinkling the cloth. He let go with his wand hand, whipped the robe around his other arm several times in a poor man's attempt at rolling it back up, and then threw it at the wall with a bit more force than was entirely required. "We continue on until we actually _find _them. Or at least, that's what _I'm _planning on doing."

A brief silence. Then Peter said. "I don't think any of us wants to turn around and leave now – or just sit here and hope for the best either. We're with you." Noises of agreement followed his statement – Harry didn't count to see if everyone had done so, but certainly no one was actively protesting.

He smiled, and was briefly sorry that his Disillusionment meant that no one else could see it. "… Thanks guys."

They finished looking through the second floor of the west wing – just on the off chance – in fairly short order, only taking the most cursory of glances at the rooms, infected by a sense of urgency brought on by the lack of the two third-years in the room that was, most likely, theirs. The first floor got an even more cursory inspection, particularly after two rooms in a row ended up opening into gatherings of Death Eaters taking breaks. They somehow managed to maintain their streak of stunning all people involved before they could raise the alarm properly, but it was a very near thing.

As they approached the main hallway – a broad open area that looked like it possessed some lovely architecture and a very nice use of natural light that Harry wished he had the time to appreciate properly – Harry's eyes were drawn naturally to a broad staircase that gradually sloped upwards towards a very ornate, and very large set of double doors. Doors that were guarded by no less than five Death Eaters, in varying states of awareness of their surroundings. One of whom was actually peering suspiciously in their direction, probably having caught some slightly odd turn of the light, or perhaps the scuffing of someone's shoe that had carried louder and farther than expected in this broad hall. _Only a matter of time before we're discovered at this rate._

James appeared to share his opinion – except he had apparently added 'that's likely our goal' to 'almost certain discovery' and come up with 'screw all this sneaking around, I'm a Gryffindor!'

To his credit, he did shoot off several stunning charms – one of which actually hit, even from this distance – before he let off a whoop and – from the sound of running feet – dashed towards the stairs and the other four Death Eaters.

Sirius called "Wait for me!" and dashed after him, taking off his Disillusionment Charm as he went – when actually moving around rapidly, the background changed too quickly for the charm to keep up, so it really didn't end up being all that useful.

There was a sigh that sounded like Remus, and two more sets of running feet – the other two Marauders off to rescue their more hot-headed compatriots, most likely. They left their charms up – though it didn't turn out to be that useful, since the first thing one of the Death Eaters did was shoot the counter-spell at them, apparently preferring to see who he was (theoretically) about to kill.

"Gryffindors." Snape said, in tones of deepest disgust. "Well, that's torn it. I suppose we might as well go play, too."

The rest of the group proceeded at a somewhat slower pace – though still faster than the rate at which they'd been going so far – and arrived near the top of the stairs just in time for someone (Harry honestly had no clue who, except that it had been a spell he didn't recognize so it was probably one of the seventh-years) to take out one of the last two remaining Death Eaters just as he was about to aim what was almost certainly a nasty curse of some sort at Sirius' back.

"I hope you're happy now." Snape said, still Disillusioned but using his normal volume – there seemed to be no point in whispering given the racket the just-finished fight had created. "At least it doesn't look like you managed to injure yourselves _too_ badly." Sirius had a slice along his upper left arm – not his wand arm, thankfully – that looked painful but not debilitating, and Peter appeared to be limping, but otherwise the four of them appeared to have represented themselves quite well given that they'd been up against five adult dark wizards.

"Yeah, we're OK." Peter said easily, blithely accepting the concern and ignoring the tone. He looked towards the door. "So. I guess …?"

Harry stepped forward. _No point in worrying about it now._ He pushed the door open.

The first thing he noticed were the backs of two heads, considerably shorter than the rest – one blond, one red – towards the center of the room, and also the center of the other gathered people. _All right, they're here. Now we just need to extract them from –_

The rather large number of other gathered people, all of whom appeared to be wearing the black robes that Harry had come to view as typical Death Eater attire. And many of whom had not been lost enough in whatever had been going on to fail to notice the doors opening. Harry prepared to duck away, as he suspected he had mere moments before someone either attempted to dispel his disillusionment charm … or just went straight for something more lethal. – _That might be somewhat problematic. _

And lastly, he noticed what he should probably have noticed _first _– just _who_ sat in the chair at the front of the room, like a king presiding over his subjects.

… _Shit._

25 November 2012


	26. Chapter 26

(12/1/2012) … All over now except for the epilogue.

It's been a long journey, and I must admit I'm a bit sad to see it end. But particularly as an avid reader myself, I'm also very glad that I have been given (and made) the chance to bring it to a point of completion.

And without further ado …

# # # Chapter 26 # # #

_:That's him!:_ Petunia shouted. :_That monster who attacked my family!:_ She paused for a moment, and added with something that sounded almost like guilt, _:… Our family.:_

_:Yes, that's Voldemort.: _ Harry responded absently, as he stared steadily at the man, who had straightened but otherwise still looked unconcerned as he looked back at the just-opened door.

"It appears we have some uninvited guests." Voldemort said, appearing as though he was looking straight into Harry's eyes. But he was still Disillusioned …_ On the other hand, if Professor Dumbledore can see through invisibility cloaks …_ "Would you care to show yourselves? It's terribly unfriendly otherwise."

_Or perhaps not … perhaps he's simply good at guessing location and height._ Harry reversed the Disillusionment Charm and stepped forward, pitching his voice to be clearly audible from all the way across the room where Voldemort sat. "Speaking of being friendly, I have a couple of friends that I'd like to bring away with me, so if you would be so kind as to allow them to depart …?"

"And who are you to request this boon of me, little girl?" The man asked, settling back into a more indolent posture in his chair, amusement writ large on his body.

"One who has escaped your reach more than once before." Harry said, quite enjoying being cryptic – it was nice to be on the annoying side for once.

That caused Voldemort to lean forward. Harry thought he might actually recognize Petunia, since she had, after all, been there when he had attacked on Christmas Eve. Apparently even the ones that got away had been beneath his notice, though, as after a moment it became clear that he had no memory of Petunia, at least. "Your favorite color is burgundy." He added, with the broadest, most deliberately annoying shit-eating grin he could muster.

That brought Voldemort to his feet with a glare whose force he could feel even from all the way across the room. "_You_."

Harry hardly had time to be smug, though, because in what seemed like the blink of an eye Voldemort had whipped his wand out and pointed it straight at Harry. "_Avada –"_

Harry _dove_ out of the way. "Move!"

"—_Kedavra!" _The sickly green light went flying through the double-doors just as Harry cleared them; from the way it flew onward to splash against the far wall (which was a pretty fair distance away – Harry had partially blanked just how _ridiculously strong_ Voldemort was in this time period), it looked like everyone else had either already been out of the way, or had moved with as much alacrity as Harry.

"Geez, Harry." James said – voice also obviously pitched to be audible inside the room. "What'd you do to piss him off? Unless he's really _that_ sensitive about his favorite color."

… Harry should have known that James would jump in on any opportunity to commit mischief.

"Though really, burgundy?" Sirius contributed. "That's an old lady color."

Harry risked a glance back inside the double doors – then jerked his head back as several spells came flying at his head. Given the sources, probably at least one of them would have taken his head _off_.

His brief look had, however, been enough to note something very encouraging – Bill and Claudius were no longer in the middle of the circle of Death Eaters – or at least, were no longer visible. _:Huh. I hadn't thought that he'd let them keep their wands. On the other hand, I suppose he _was _trying to recruit them, not capture them.: _

Voldemort appeared to notice this not long after Harry did, as he suddenly yelled, "You fools, don't let them escape! After them!"

Harry shared a look with his father, then turned back to look at the rest of their group – now pretty much all visible again. James gave a thumbs up, Sirius grinned, even Peter and Remus looked eager. Harry himself couldn't entirely suppress the excitement that bubbled up from deep within him – he was scared, yes, and nervous, but, well … he'd managed to take Voldemort out for good once, and confronted him a bunch of other times; it was getting to the point where it didn't feel quite right if he hadn't been in mortal danger at least once per year. _And, well, this year has been stranger and … shorter than most, but it's April now, so I suppose that's close enough. _

The Hufflepuff contingent looked a bit more obviously frightened, but still determined, and Snape and Violet shared a roll of the eyes and a huffed "Gryffindors."

Then the first of the Death Eaters reached the doors, and Harry's world narrowed to blocking, dodging, and doing his best to return fire when and where he could. The first several times he cast using his new wand, he had to make a concerted effort not to let himself get distracted by just how much more _powerful_ the spells felt. Before long, though, he was being pressed sufficiently that even the increase in power ended up being shoved to the back of his mind – the same as every other unnecessary thought.

Before long, he'd utterly lost track of the other members of the group, except for the occasional momentary glimpse. A flash of Snape, using some spell he'd never heard of before, whose effects often seemed to be nearly as vicious as those of the ones they were fighting. A flash of James and Sirius tag-teaming groups of Death Eaters with a madcap array of high level spells, joke spells that the Death Eaters seemed to have no idea how to deal with, and at least in James's case, transfiguration of random objects into shields, or projectiles, or (it being James) more joke materials.

At one point he thought he saw – definitely heard – one of the girls he didn't know well go down with a shriek of pain. Not long after he saw Ronnie and Edwin standing in protective formation over the location he thought he'd heard the scream from and had just enough spare brain power to think _Huh, probably Elle who went down then – I hope she's okay._ Then he was sucked back into paying his full attention to his own opponents.

For all that he'd been the one to most obviously attract Voldemort's ire, James and Sirius were being so much more visibly obnoxious to the Death Eater contingent as a whole that the bulk of the attention shifted towards them, leaving Harry still in difficulty – he was only a _fourth-year_, after all – but somehow, with liberal use of the same dodging skills he'd developed all his life in games of Harry-Hunting

(_:Huh:_ He thought he heard Petunia say, very quiet and strangely thoughtful … but really, she was the least of his concerns at the moment)

and what few low-level shielding spells he did know, he somehow managed to both keep his own skin intact and occasionally get a few hits of his own in.

He realized when he saw the empty chair that he'd also lost track of where Voldemort was – which seemed like an even worse problem than not knowing offhand where his allies were – and then the answer presented itself when he turned around and found himself almost face-to-face with his nemesis.

Harry's mind blanked as Voldemort grinned, the evilest smile he'd ever seen, and he just threw out the first thing that he could think of.

… In hindsight, there had probably been a better choice than _Wingardium Leviosa_, but it had at least been so off the wall that Voldemort hadn't had time to counter it before it took effect, and the look on his face as he lifted off into the air was worth it.

That moment of shock only lasted for a moment, however; his face transmuted to rage as he clipped out the counterspell with such force that Harry almost thought he could feel a shockwave pass by him as the man came back down to earth. Harry pre-emptively ducked away from the counter-attack he knew was coming – likely to be far more painful than a simple Killing Curse given what he'd just done – and then before he knew it, he'd been swallowed back up in the fray, and lost track of Voldemort once again.

He saw Peter at one point – just in time to stun a Death Eater in the back, who had been about to shoot Peter in the back with something likely a great deal more lethal. His friend turned as the body crashed to the ground – though how he had been able to hear that in the general din of shouted spells and other battle noises, Harry had no clue – to first smile his thanks, and then return the favor.

Harry, recognizing Crabbe Sr. in the opponent Peter had taken down (temporarily – the problem with stunning spells was that the Death Eaters were beginning to wise up to the fact that in a lot of cases, that was the worst the Hogwarts contingent were using, and to revive those Death Eaters who had been stunned), breathed a sigh of relief – and spared a moment he didn't really have to think about how strangely the world worked, when in his old life it would have been Wormtail standing side-by-side with Crabbe Sr. in trying to take him down.

Edwin was the one to rescue Harry from his inattention this time. Harry waved his appreciation, and Edwin shouted something that Harry didn't quite catch but involved the words 'Petunia' and 'kill you'. _:Protective, isn't he?: _Harry asked idly.

_:Shut up.: _Petunia said, though she felt strangely pleased. _:And don't you have more interesting things to pay attention to than chatting with me?: _

_:… Fair enough.: _ And Harry went back to ducking, weaving, shielding, and generally doing his best to not get killed as he simultaneously did his best to try and figure out where Bill and Claudius had disappeared off to – no sign, so hopefully they'd Disillusioned themselves and found a handy corner to hide in – and try to make sure Voldemort was not currently aiming at him or at any of his friends.

One Death Eater stumbled into him from behind, with enough force that he fell to the ground and his wand, despite his desires and his belated attempt to keep hold, went flying out of his hands. _:Shit.: _He and Petunia thought, simultaneously – but then almost as though he were still in control of their shared body, Petunia went scrambling after the wand as quickly as she could.

_:You don't mind being stuck watching for so long?:_ Harry couldn't help but ask.

Petunia yelped as a spell went flying directly over her head, and fell into an awkward roll that put her almost into reach of the wand – until a stray movement by someone's foot sent it flying in an entirely new direction. _:In this mess? You can have it! You're the only one with any hope of getting us out of it alive, after all, and I'm quite happy to be alive and would prefer – OOF – to stay that way.: _

_:You don't regret coming?:_

_:What, and sit at home waiting to find out what sort of disaster this mission turned into – and believe me, from my perspective this looks like a _hell_ of a mess? If we're all being taken home in body bags, I'd prefer to be here to see it happen.: _

She finally managed to get her fingers on the wand, and Harry slammed back into control, tightening his grip lest it slip again. He stumbled to his feet, wincing at the new pain in his side – he had no idea whether it was intentional or not, but a booted foot had caught Petunia as she scrambled after the wand, almost sending her sprawling again – and looked around, trying to regain his bearings as he simultaneously also tried to figure out who was about to start shooting at him (plenty of people) and what (he probably didn't want to find out).

… _Wherever Bill and Claudius are, I hope they're not in the middle of this mess, too … _

# # # # #

Tom's grudging respect for the young Malfoy scion was threatening to turn into genuine fondness – it had been he who had had the presence of mind to Disillusion the two of them and drag William into an out-of-the way corner just as the rest of the room blew up, while Tom himself was still trying to figure out what sort of command he could shout at William to give him the idea that disappearing would be a _really good plan_ right now.

Still, he had to hand it to Harry – the kid had shown up in the nick of time, just as Tom's own luck was beginning to wear thin. He had to admit that once William had figured out that he was there largely because the elder Malfoy was under the impression that he was still under the diary's control, he'd done a … not completely execrable job of acting Slytherin.

Between that and Tom's shouted answers to his older self's questions, which seemed to have been doing a slightly better job of communicating themselves (perhaps because William had been so desperate for an answer he was willing to accept even one that appeared to appear out of nowhere), they had been … a lot closer to pulling off believability than Tom had had any right to expect. Still, Tom knew himself, and he could tell that his older self's patience and inclination to believe had been wearing thin – William was just a bit too slow to answer, and overall still too Gryffindor.

So it was a good thing that Harry had shown up when he did – though Tom could argue a lot more with his methods. _Tossing the doors open, provoking my older self – though that was pretty funny, who knew that my older self was that easily upsettable? Doesn't he realize how easily that can be used to take advantage of him? – and then jumping into the fray like it was some sort of schoolyard brawl? Gryffindors … _

Still, although the Malfoy boy had made a good first step, as it was they were still sitting here in a corner, hiding behind some sort of fancy statue that Tom was sure had had some artistic meaning before a chunk of its arm had been blown off by a stray curse … and as far as Tom could tell, just waiting for someone to win. Which honestly? _Not_ a bright plan, because while he thought he'd counted nine other people with Harry (and how on _Earth_ had he managed to gather that many? … While in the form of some gangly horse-faced girl, no less), that still meant the Death Eaters outnumbered them at last three to one, and that wasn't even taking into account his older self.

Who appeared mostly content to hold himself apart from the fray as being beneath him (… literally, in the case of that one encounter with Harry, speaking of things that were far more hilarious than they should be given that that was theoretically himself out there), but that could easily change at any time – such as whenever he got a clear shot at Harry.

In summary … "MAYBE WE SHOULD GET OUT OF HERE." He shouted, for about the third time, and wished that he dared take his attention off the view window long enough to go get a glass of water. All this shouting was beginning to make his throat a bit sore.

"Do you think we should go help?" William whispered to the Malfoy kid, and Tom resisted the urge to facepalm. _Gryffindors. _

"We're third years, Bill." The Malfoy kid – clearly far more intelligent than his friend – responded. "I don't think we'd be a whole lot of help, and we'd probably just get ourselves killed in the bargain. Which, given that they apparently came to rescue us …"

"I wonder how they knew we were here?" William mused.

Tom sighed. "You're welcome."

The Malfoy shook his head. "I have no idea … I don't even recognize several of the older ones, do you?"

William shook his head.

Tom rolled his eyes. _Gryffindor._ Then blinked._ … Maybe if I make the suggestion more Gryffindor? _He cleared his throat experimentally and then tried again. "MAYBE WE SHOULD GET OUT OF HERE. SO THAT WE CAN GO GET HELP. AND RESCUE EVERYONE. BEFORE THEY GET THEIR FOOL SELVES KILLED."

One of the ones he didn't recognize – which to be fair, was pretty much everyone except the horse-faced girl (who he only recognized as Harry; he didn't know the host) and Snape – went down screaming as someone's Cruciatus hit. Then there was a mess of action he didn't fully see, but that seemed to include at least one curse from the 'good side' and another of the people (he thought maybe Potter? He vaguely recalled seeing the Head Boy once or twice during his stint in real control of William's body) actually physically tackling the man. _Points for unexpected tactics, but none for finesse. Honestly, Gryffindors. _

Speaking of, he turned his attention back to the one closer at hand. "Maybe we should try to leave." William said doubtfully. "I hate to abandon everyone, but … if we can get help …?"

_Amazing! That actually worked! _Tom thought, then grimaced. _Ugh, thinking like a Gryffindor … _

"That sounds like a great idea." The Malfoy boy said. "In this mess I doubt anyone will notice, and, well, much as I'd like to have faith in them … they seem to be holding out so far, but I don't know how long that will last."

"That's the Marauders out there." William said with pride. "Even the professors are wary of their pranks, I've heard. They can hold out as long as they need to." He hesitated. "That said …"

The Malfoy boy stood, and offered William a mostly-invisible hand up, which the boy took, and then didn't let go. "Let's go."

Bill nodded. "It's a good thing you drew me that rough map last night when we were talking about the kitchen, even if being locked in meant we couldn't actually go there. Even if we get separated, I think I should be able to figure out a way out."

"You're welcome." Tom said again, and allowed himself a sigh of relief. _Finally._

# # # # #

Harry was on the opposite side of the room when the screaming started. _Peter!_

But before he could get anywhere near in range to help, Sirius and James made it unnecessary – Sirius by casting a hex (from the effects, rather more vicious than the joke spells he and James had mostly been using to incapacitate their opponents), and James by outright tackling the man.

He caught a glimpse of Sirius helping Peter back to his feet before his attention was forcibly pulled back to the subject at hand by three hexes coming his direction at once. He ducked, shot a stunning spell at one of them, and took a page out of his father's book (more or less) and kicked the caster of the third in the knee. He went down with a howl of pain – apparently, it was more effective than Harry would have given it credit for.

Then suddenly it was as though the Death Eaters surrounding him melted away, as he once again came face to face with Voldemort. He remembered the night that had started this all and was struck with a sudden sense of déjà vu, even though in reality the situations were almost completely different.

For one thing, this Voldemort looked a lot more human. For another, he was visibly angry.

… For a third, he already knew better than to use the Imperius Curse against Harry.

"_Avada Kedav—"_

Harry ducked and grabbed something off the ground – looked like a stone arm, maybe from one of the statues? – that he could hopefully use to block if Voldemort readjusted his aim in time, then made a sharp dodge left and hoped that no one he knew and/or liked was standing behind him. No time to check. "_Expel—"_

"—_ra._" The sickly green light went flying safely past him. Harry would have turned to look and see if anyone else had been hit by it, but he didn't need Petunia's sharp _:Not the time:_ (and when did she get so good at back-seat driving a crazy magical battle?) to know that, well, it wasn't.

"—_liarmus_." Unfortunately, his spell went wide as well.

"Will you stand still?!" Voldemort demanded, clearly exasperated near to his breaking point.

"And let you kill me? I don't think so." Harry dodged the next spell as well, doing his best not to show his worry on his face – for all his bravado and Harry Hunting experience, all the running and dodging was beginning to take its toll. _I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up …_ To distract himself from his worry, he took the stone arm he still held in his left hand and threw it at Voldemort.

It hit, surprisingly enough – his left arm was definitely not his strong throwing arm. Voldemort shook his right arm out – it hadn't hit his wand arm, sadly – as his glare gained a notch or two of murderousness. "_You –_"

But whatever he had been about to say, Harry never learned, because at that moment, he heard a different voice.

"_Kawo—_"

There was really no reason he should have been able to hear it, as it hadn't been pitched to carry, and there had not been any temporary lull in battle noise that could explain it. Perhaps it was just that he could feel the power building up, as he looked up towards the front of the room and the young man aiming at Voldemort's back with a look of heartbreaking resolution on his face, and forgot Voldemort entirely.

"Remus, no! Don't do it!" The cry ripped its way out of him, and was maybe in the end the only thing that saved him, as it distracted Voldemort from whatever his next curse would have been (certainly Harry was in no state to notice or care, so he would have been a sitting duck), as he turned to look and see what had caused his young nemesis to go so far as to _forget_ he had been dueling (if it could be called that) with Lord Voldemort, and gave Remus just enough time to pronounce that last word.

"—_Kedavre._"

The black light shot out and Voldemort, seemingly unable to comprehend that someone had used _that curse_ on _him,_ stood still just long enough for it to hit. Then he began to scream, a sound that unlike Peter's screams before seemed to echo throughout the room strangely, bringing the entire rest of the fight to a halt as friends and foes alike stared at the Dark Lord, his screams climbing in pitch, exactly the way Harry remembered from the first time. He tore his eyes away and pushed his way over to where Remus stood, staring at Voldemort with a satisfied look on his face.

"Remus. Why?" Harry asked, unable to hide the emotions in his tone – he wasn't even sure what all of them were, just that they were deep and swirling and formed in large parts of _No Remus don't go!_

Remus blinked, and looked over at Harry as though surprised to see him standing there, as Voldemort's scream climbed past the audible registers to be – as far as anyone in the room could tell – silent, though anyone still watching could tell he was still screaming.

Then smiled.

Then collapsed into a pile of dust.

Harry dropped the wand, no longer caring whether he was in control – no longer caring about anything, really – anything except throwing himself at the walls of Petunia's mind, trying his hardest to remember the twist of thought and power that would allow him to _leave_ – to follow Remus wherever he had gone.

Except it felt like he had hands holding him back – Petunia's hands, he realized, even as she knelt to pick the wand back up, wrenching him back into control. _:No.:_ She said to him. _:I will not let you leave. Not here and now, when we are still surrounded on all sides by evil men who will surely wake up momentarily to realize what has happened. Not when _I have no way to defend myself without you. _You can do your_ _disappearing act later, after we've all gotten out of this alive.:_

_:But –:_

_:Whine later. Concentrate on getting us out of here now. Are you leading this group or aren't you?:_

The Death Eaters were beginning to come out of their shock … and turning towards the direction from which the spell had come, murder in their eyes. (Well. Even moreso than before.)

_:But –:_

The direction of the raised platform on which stood an empty chair, a pile of dust … and Harry.

_:If you're just going to stand there, drop the wand so _I_ can duck us out of the way. Before you get us _both_ killed.:_

Thankfully, that was when the cavalry arrived.

# # # # #

When the dust all settled, the impromptu rescue group came out of their so-called rescue a great deal more unscathed than they had had any right to expect.

Sirius had added another slice to his left arm and an awful looking burn on his left leg.

James had a matching burn on his right leg and from the way he was holding his head, had apparently hit it pretty hard (possibly during one of his tackles of recalcitrant Death Eaters).

Peter was looking shaky from the Cruciatus, in addition to the limp that he'd picked up back at the very beginning of the battle and a handful of comparatively insignificant scrapes.

Elle was perhaps the worst off, having been struck by several nasty curses that only quick thinking and unexpected first aid knowledge on the part of Ronnie had prevented from being considerably more debilitating. Ronnie and Edwin, on the other hand, had come out of it with only minor injuries.

Violet and Severus were perhaps the least damaged of the lot, having stayed closer to the sidelines of the mess and been choosier about their targets and their own placement – though Severus had ended up with a messy-looking gash across his forehead and some hair lost from where he didn't quite manage to dodge quite far enough out of the way. It bled far more horribly than the depth of the wound really warranted; a fact that put Severus in an even more horrible mood than this mess had already, due to having to keep swiping blood out of his eyes. At least until Peter had offered him his spare handkerchief, at which point he was just in a foul mood because he had to go around holding a handkerchief to his forehead.

And Harry?

When the Headmaster had arrived with what seemed like the entire contingent of Hogwarts professors behind him, he had quietly tucked his wand into Petunia's pocket and relinquished control. She had a few bumps and bruises – mostly from their impromptu scramble across the floor for Harry's wand – and a slice across the top of her left forearm that frankly, neither of them had noticed until it was all over, and neither could quite place when or where they had acquired it.

Harry sighed in relief – though no one but Petunia could hear it – when he saw Bill and Claudius standing with the professors – near the back of the group, safely protected, but apparently insistent on being there to see the Death Eaters rounded up and taken away, and to make sure that all of their erstwhile rescuers had been rescued themselves.

Despite their relatively light injuries, though, a pall lay over the group of rescuers. One that Professor Dumbledore clearly noticed, and clearly counted up the Marauders and came up with one short, and asked the obvious question – "Where's Mr. Lupin?"

The group turned as one to look at the pile of dust that lay just beyond Voldemort's body, but no one had the heart to reply until Petunia took it on herself to be the heartless one (he'd seemed like a nice guy, but it wasn't like she'd _known_ him, after all) and pointed. "He's that pile of dust over there."

Professor Dumbledore looked clearly saddened by the news – though not, entirely, surprised. "I had hoped that this generation would not need to make such great sacrifices." He murmured, as though to himself. Then it was as if he noticed for the first time who exactly was speaking, and did a double-take. "Miss Evans? What are you doing here?"

"… And who is this?" Another professor – Harry didn't recognize him – asked, looking down at Voldemort's body. "He seems to have been the only other casualty … and a Death Eater, I assume."

"That?" Petunia offhandedly, turning to the man and ignoring Dumbledore's question completely. "Oh, that's just Voldemort." She said, with malicious satisfaction that reminded Harry of darker days … and once again got him to thinking, a bit awed, about how much had changed.

And then the uproar started.

# # # # #

After he had calmed down, Harry found that there were good reasons other than keeping Petunia alive (which, it had turned out, she wouldn't have really needed his help with after all) to stick around a little while longer.

He bore the brunt of James' and Sirius' anger with aplomb – knowing it was the simple truth that without his presence in their lives, not only would Remus not have been there to throw his life away, he never would have thought of using that particular spell to do it.

There was a part of Peter, he knew, who blamed him too, but having befriended Harry and having felt enriched by that friendship, and knowing that Remus had felt the same way, and knowing as well that Harry blamed himself – almost hated himself – more for matters having come to this point than anyone else ever could, Peter found he couldn't be too hard on his friend.

Severus had simply pulled him aside at one point – well, pulled Petunia aside, but it was clear to both of them who he was actually talking to – and looked into his eyes and said simply, "You're going after him, aren't you?"

Petunia had stuck her hand into her pocket to touch the wand that was now ever-present there (almost as though she were a witch in truth), and Harry had replied, just as simply, "Yes."

Snape had nodded, and half-smiled. "I guess we won't need the adoption papers after all, then."

And Harry had laughed. "You never know. I have no idea where we'll end up once I find him. … If I find him."

Snape had rolled his eyes. "You'll find him."

Then there was the funeral for Remus. It was a grand affair, as befit the dead savior of the Wizarding World. Harry watched it with bittersweet eyes, wanting once again to disappear, and simultaneously wanting to watch it through to the end. _After all,_ he thought to himself, _I never got to see my own funeral. If I find Remus – _when_ I find Remus – the least I can do is tell him about his own. _

At some point it came out that Remus had been a werewolf, and suddenly there was a minor storm of parents angry at the perceived threat to their children of there having been a werewolf student at Hogwarts … and a much larger storm of support for werewolf rights legislation and additional funding for research into a cure for lycanthropy. Because, after all, that werewolf student had also been the savior of the Wizarding World.

Harry wondered if Remus would have approved. He wondered, too, if Remus was watching – just as invisible to Harry and the rest of his friends as Harry had been to Ron and Hermione, so close, yet separated by an insurmountable barrier.

At one point, Harry sought Bill Weasley out, the redhead looking up at the tall Muggle girl who, for some reason no one had quite been able to figure out, still carried around a wand. (Given that she had also been an eye-witness to Voldemort's defeat, most people were also somewhat intimidated by the thought of just asking. To the few who did, she just smirked and said "It's a souvenir of my time here.") She had one hand in her pocket grasping that wand, now, as she looked down at Bill. "I thought you should know," she said, "that _he's _still in there."

Bill frowned. "Who's …?" The light dawned, and he gaped. "How did you know about that? … And how do you know?"

The girl just smiled. "Because I was in there for a while, too – how did you think we knew where to come to rescue you?"

Bill gaped some more – he and Claudi had spent hours contemplating this very question, but the answer made even less sense than anything they'd managed to come up with. "Is he … dangerous?"

The older girl had laughed. "He's Voldemort's younger self – I think he'd be insulted if you called him 'safe'. But if he hasn't taken you back over yet, you have him well and truly trapped in there – which is a position of power, even if he'll refuse to admit it. I think if you can figure out a way to communicate with him, you'll find that he's more amenable to compromise than you might expect."

Bill looked as though something had just occurred to him. "… Is that why I kept being able to answer You-Know-Who's questions correctly? I thought it was just old memories from when I was possessed, or getting lucky, or something."

The older girl looked into his eyes, but also somehow beyond, and Bill got the impression that she wasn't talking to him at all anymore. "Thank you for keeping them alive until I got there. And I'm sorry it took as long as it did."

Bill blinked. "I think … maybe he just said 'You're welcome'?" He said, and then even more uncertainly, "… And something about Gryffindors?"

The older girl laughed. "That sounds like him. And it sounds like you're well on your way to getting along." She smirked. "And just remember, if he gets too out of hand, or you just don't want to deal with the trouble anymore – your mother's an _excellent_ exorcist."

# # # # #

Harry didn't end up needing to seek out a moment alone with his grandfather – the man came to him.

First he hugged his eldest daughter until she flailed and pled asphyxiation in addition to terminal embarrassment. Then he held her at arm's length and looked at her, solemnly. "I hear you've done magic, Pet. And since I know you're as Muggle as your poor parents are … is Harry in there, too?"

Petunia simply nodded, and touched Harry's wand, and Harry smiled shyly at his grandfather. "Yes, sir, it's me."

"I think I've told you more than once to stop calling me sir." The man said, and hugged his daughter and grandson again. "I don't know whether to scold you for putting my eldest daughter in so much danger … or thank you for bringing her out the other side, safe and sound."

Petunia requested back control – more politely than Harry expected, but then his aunt had been pretty much a constant surprise since he landed in her head – and he gave it. "_Dad_," she complained, "it was my idea too."

_:… And I'm not sure I could have done it without your help.: _Harry admitted. _:So … thanks.: _

Thomas Evans also appeared to recognize that Harry was not going to stick around for much longer; was in fact surprised that he'd stayed as long as he had. At the end of their conversation he engulfed his daughter and grandson in yet another hug and quietly said, "I assume I probably won't see you again."

Petunia touched Harry's wand and Harry hugged back just as hard with his free arm and admitted, "Probably not."

His grandfather had stepped back then, and smiled, and said, "Well, then, I'll be happy I've had the time with you that I have, and try to be content to wait until I have other grandkids to spoil."

_:DAD!:_ Petunia wailed.

Harry laughed. "You know your daughter is currently trying to die of embarrassment again, right?"

Thomas grinned. "One of the best parts of being a father is getting to embarrass your children." Then sobered. "Be well, Harry."

Harry shrugged, and smiled wryly, and said "I'm dead, you know. But … thanks. I'll try."

"That's all I ask." He paused. "Well. If you ever find yourself in the neighborhood again, drop by and say hi, will you?"

"If I can, I will." _Even if you can't see me._

# # # # #

And finally, finished with the things he felt he had to do, and the talks he felt he needed to have with the people he felt he needed to see, Harry snuck away from Hogwarts one fine sunny day – a rarity in late April – to Hogsmeade, and from there via Floo to the Burrow.

Molly Weasley – looking far more harried than Harry had ever seen her before, but of course the twins were less than a month old at the moment – greeted him at the door with, "Petunia Evans, correct? Current host to Harry No-Last-Name? I've been expecting you."

"I thought the Headmaster was being suspiciously quiet." Harry commented as he followed her inside. "But that is correct. If it's not too much trouble, we were hoping for your services."

"You've put him in a difficult situation, possessing a defenseless Muggle." Mrs. Weasley commented. "I'm glad to see that you've come to me before he had to take matters into his own hands."

_:I'm _not_ defenseless.:_ Petunia growled.

_:Just as well the Headmaster thinks so, though, isn't it?: _Harry pointed out. _:You can prove him wrong after I'm gone.: _

_:Oh, believe me, I _will_.: _

Mrs. Weasley set up the supplies she needed on her kitchen table – a place that now brought up conflicting memories for Harry, not just those of spending time here with Ron and his family, but also of that oddly congenial time he'd spent trapped playing nice with Tom Riddle inside Bill Weasley's head. (And he wondered if he'd done the right thing, by telling Bill he thought he could work with Riddle, instead of recommending he get his head cleaned out right then and there and let that be the end of it. He supposed only time would tell.)

And then, with perhaps the least fanfare of any of his exits from this time period, as Mrs. Weasley completed the ceremony, Harry simply … disappeared.

25 November 2012


	27. Chapter 27

(12/1/2012) And here we are, at the very end.

Big thanks to everyone who has read this story and enjoy it – you guys were a large part of why I kept writing it initially, and not wanting to leave you hanging permanently played a large part in bringing me back to this story to finally finish it, now that I've started writing again.

So to everyone – those who've been with me since the first chapter, those who never saw this story until a week ago, and everyone in between – a giant THANK YOU.

Special thanks also go to my NaNoWriMo writing buddies, who were incredibly encouraging and supportive as I sat down to write these last several chapters this month … even though I did not include these words in my word count.

P. S. Happy 10th Birthday, Coexistence.

# # # Epilogue # # #

When the swirl of images and memories of things-and-people-that-weren't came this time, Harry had been prepared and resisted it, fighting to stay where he was. He didn't know where Remus had disappeared off to – could only hope that, as fellow casters of the same spell, they'd at least be able to see each other even if no one else could – but he could at least be fairly certain that wherever he'd gone, it was unlikely to be Harry's own time and place.

For some reason – he still had only the barest idea how any of this strange time-hopping worked, particularly when it came to the hops that didn't involve being attached to people – his desperate clinging to that time period had worked, and he had swirled back into existence in his non-corporeal form only a few feet away from where Petunia still stood.

Mrs. Weasley finished up her ceremony and smiled at the younger girl. "Well, that should have fixed it, dear. Can you feel him anymore?"

Petunia shook her head. "No, he seems to be gone completely." She smiled. "He wasn't … a terrible house guest. But I must say, it's _lovely_ to be alone in my head again."

Mrs. Weasley chuckled. "Well, I doubt it'll be a problem for a Muggle like you, but if you ever get possessed again, do feel free to give me a call."

Harry by now knew Petunia well enough – and wasn't _that_ a weird thought – to know that she hadn't taken kindly to the 'Muggle like you' remark, but she apparently figured it wasn't worth the fight, and politely asked Mrs. Weasley's advice on the best way back to Hogwarts.

Mrs. Weasley led her outside, suggesting that they call the Knight Bus – and then explaining to a somewhat bemused Petunia just what the Knight Bus was. Just as she was about to raise her wand, she turned back to Petunia and asked idly, "By the way, dear … if you'll pardon an old woman's curiosity … did young Harry ever tell you his last name?"

Petunia stiffened, and Harry tensed as well. She _knew_, after all, and now that he was no longer around as far as she knew …

But she just smiled and shook her head. "No." She said. "He never did."

# # # # #

The first jump he'd tried was 'to where Remus is now', using his strange Apparition-but-not trick. He hadn't been terribly surprised that it hadn't worked – at least not entirely; it had brought him to a form of Remus at least. He had stared down at the rather ridiculously ornate headstone and wondered if perhaps he had jumped here because a part of him couldn't help remembering Remus as he'd died – that _smile_, a moment before he'd crumbled to dust.

So he tried again, trying his best to push thoughts of death out of his mind and picture Remus as he'd been alive. Nothing, or perhaps another jump to his gravesite – it was hard to tell for sure since he hadn't moved.

Perhaps that hadn't worked because there no longer was a living Remus for him to home in on. So he tried again, imagining Remus the way he thought he himself might look – somewhat transparent, floating a few inches above the ground, like a ghost but somehow even more insubstantial. Still nothing.

For days of real time, as life passed him by, he tried off and on, stopping whenever he got so exhausted he couldn't think anymore, then starting again as soon as he thought he'd recovered enough to. None of the jump attempts ever amounted to anything, and eventually even Harry had had to give up. _I guess I'll have to find him the hard way, then. _

# # # # #

Eventually, out of curiosity and perhaps a desire to do something_, anything_ other than simply drifting around in the past, trying to find either Remus or something who could see him – which for whatever reason, no one he'd tried could anymore – he attempted to bounce back to his own time. It took him a little while to figure out the trick without being forced into it, but he had a good enough sense of how the transition had felt (having been through it quite a few times) that he was eventually successful.

Here, too, he found that even those who had previously been able to see him could no longer do so anymore. Though he thought Professor Snape might have had a vague clue, after Harry stuck an arm in one of his more delicate potions – half out of spite, half out of genuine curiosity. It _had_, in fact, exploded, and somehow managed to turn Harry's nonexistent arm a truly alarming shade of pink (additionally alarming given how insubstantially pale the rest of him was) for the equivalent of about two weeks.

It disturbed him a bit when he finally acknowledged it, but Harry found that there truly was very little tying him to his home time-period anymore. He still missed Hermione and Ron, but he found he had mostly come to terms with the fact that he would – he could say, now, with near certainty – never be able to truly interact with them again, particularly now that there weren't even any helpful people who could be used as intermediaries.

So he checked in on everyone he had known and loved in his present – including Professor Lupin, who he was glad to see appeared completely unaffected by his counterpart's disintegration – and then bounced himself back to the past.

# # # # #

Days turned into weeks turned into years. Harry found that he could bounce forward in time with reasonable accuracy (he usually landed within a day or two of where he had aimed), but could not bounce backwards. So, over time, he did so less and less, preferring to experience time more or less the same way the still-living did. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say, preferring to tie himself to the slow plod of time rather than bounce forward and risk missing something he would have preferred not to have.

It was with one such time bounce – the bounce that, in fact, convinced him to stop doing so for the most part – that he managed to completely skip over the seventh-year graduation. He heard enough references to the Marauders' 'going-away present' to the graduation ceremony that he really wished that he'd been able to see it in person – hearing people talk about it, even if some of them got pretty descriptive, just wasn't the same.

He also missed his dad proposing to his mum – though that was less due to time skip, and more due to the fact that he didn't actually know for sure when it had occurred (since it certainly hadn't occurred over Christmas their seventh year the way his dad had originally planned) and he, quite frankly, had more interesting things to do with his time than to follow his dad around constantly.

On the other hand, purely by accident he happened to have been checking in on his grandparents and Petunia – who was studying madly for her A-levels in the hopes that she wouldn't have to delay college for a year due to the minor upset of having been absent from school while trapped in a magical castle for roughly four months – on the day when Edwin dropped by and formally asked Petunia if she'd consent to date him.

Which was, admittedly, not the same as a proposal of marriage – but Harry had been floored to see Petunia blush and accept shyly. And he was as surprised as anyone – which is to say, not at all (though he had to admit, he would never have believed it if he hadn't seen the buildup gradually happen) – when two years later, Edwin did propose, and Petunia did accept, though they agreed to hold off on the wedding until Petunia finished university.

Harry was also there when Snape received his formally acknowledged Mastery of Potions – one of the youngest ever to have done so. He watched with pleasure as, instead of getting deeply involved in the Death Eaters as Harry supposed he had before (which admittedly, even if he had been of a mind to, would have been difficult given that the same rescue mission that had lost them Remus and killed Voldemort had also allowed Dumbledore to catch, red-handed, a not-insignificant number of high-level Death Eaters, which in combination with the Aurors, they'd been able to convert into rooting out almost all of the remaining ones), Snape set up his own modest Potion shop – primarily for brewing on-demand of the sorts of advanced Potions that most people could not be bothered to (or didn't know how to) brew on their own, although he also did a limited number of sales of ingredients as well.

With the modest proceeds, he was able to go into the sort of advanced Potions research that he had spoken once of being interested in pursuing. And honestly, it appeared to suit him to the ground – far better than teaching ever had.

Peter, after flailing around for several months post-graduation, finally settled into a role as Snape's shop's "public side" – taking care of most of the customer interaction and tracking the books, thus freeing Snape to do more of what he was actually interested in: the Potion-brewing and research.

James and Sirius went on to become Aurors, quickly becoming the terrors of their class at the Academy with the same sorts of prank spells and tag-teaming that they'd used to such effect in the attack on Silverthorne Manor. And if they became a little bit quiet sometimes, before exploding off to cause even more trouble than before, well – they were minor celebrities from the aforementioned attack, and everyone knew that the hero Remus Lupin had been one of their closest friends, so they tended to let it slide.

Lily apprenticed to Professor Flitwick in order to continue her Charms studies, with the express intention of someday becoming assistant professor, and eventually the full professor of Charms there at Hogwarts.

Bill and Claudius continued to be as close as ever – closer, really, than before, now that Claudius' father was locked away in Azkaban as one of the many who had been caught in the raid on Silverthorne Manor, and his mother had effectively shut herself away from the world in shame. When Mrs. Weasley had learned of this, she had insisted that Bill bring him home for major holidays and as much of the summer as he liked, now that the 'poor boy no longer had a proper home to call his own'. It wasn't long before she was treating him as a sixth son, especially given that 'as much of the summer as he liked' ended up being effectively the entire time.

In Claudius' words, he preferred the friendly atmosphere of the Burrow to the cold emptiness that awaited him back at home.

And as Bill observed, anyone who could handle babysitting the infant twins – just as much of terrors now as they would be when they grew up – deserved the title of 'honorary Weasley' for that alone.

Early on, Harry spent a larger share of his time watching Bill than the others, trying to figure out if or how much Tom was still there, affecting things. As far as he knew, Bill hadn't gone to his mother to get Tom exorcised entirely, but Harry couldn't tell whether that was because Tom was still as effectively trapped as before and Bill was content to leave him that way, or whether the two of them had come to some sort of agreement. Either way, Harry eventually reassured himself that at the very least, Bill Weasley did not appear to be on the path to becoming the next Dark Lord anytime soon, and let himself relax.

Through the various ups and downs of the lives of his friends and family, Harry waited, and watched – missing some important events, finding a way to be there for most – and never stopped searching for Remus. Occasionally he'd pause, and focus his mind on everything he knew of Remus and everything the other boy had meant to him, and jump, and hope – but it always led him back to his friend's grave.

# # # # #

July 31st, 1980.

Harry had been one of the most surprised when Lily had announced she was pregnant, and he had counted forward and realized that the due date matched suspiciously well with his own birthday. It was with a large dose of bemusement and no little humor (because if nothing else, watching his very pregnant mother order his father around was _hilarious_) that he kept a weather eye on the pregnancy that, in another world, in another set of lives, would have turned out to be him.

He was simultaneously entertained and somewhat relieved to find that the name 'Harry' had not made it anywhere near their short list – the plan was 'John' if it was a boy, or 'Daisy' if a girl. One Harry Potter in the world was, to his mind, more than enough. It would be weird enough watching the boy (or girl, he supposed, though he doubted it) who could have been him growing up without also having to deal with hearing his name all the time.

Lily had gone into labor quite a while earlier; Harry waited patiently with his father and the other two remaining Marauders (theoretically there for moral support, more realistically there to distract James from going completely mad) in the waiting room, eager to hear the announcement of the results. He supposed he could have been in the delivery room proper – no one would have been able to see him, after all – but honestly, there were some things he would be just as happy to go through life (or death, as the case may be) without seeing, and 'a woman giving birth' (_especially_ when the woman was his mother and the baby could have been him) was pretty high on that list.

"Harry Potter?" Harry turned, and saw Remus stroll back into his life, as casually as though he had never left. "I _thought_ so." The other boy said, pleased, then added, "I thought I might find you here."

Only then did Harry realize what his turn had inadvertently revealed. He tensed – then suddenly relaxed, as he realized that it truly did not matter anymore. Who would Remus tell? And it wasn't as though he didn't trust the other boy – hadn't already been considering telling him, hadn't spent long parts of the past several years kicking himself for not finding an opportunity to tell him already (for not finding an opportunity to say a lot of things, actually). He smiled ruefully. "So you found me out? I hope you aren't too upset."

Remus smiled back. "I wasn't _sure_ until you reacted like that just now – but I've been doing a lot of thinking, and for all that there are still things I don't understand, it was the theory that made the most sense." He paused. "I can … sort of understand some of your reasons for not publicizing it, though I don't understand quite why you made such a big deal of hiding it."

Harry shrugged. "It was another world, and other circumstances – circumstances your actions have made null and void, thankfully." He glared. "Though I still don't agree with you just going off and doing _that_. You had your whole life ahead of you! You could have done so much! And instead you just went off and … _wasted_ it."

Remus snickered. "Now do you understand a bit better our reactions to your use of that spell? Anything you just said of me is equally true of yourself, you know – even more so, really."

Harry paused, arrested by a new thought, then glared even harder. "Do _not_ tell me that you just used a murder-suicide spell to … to prove a bloody _point_!"

Remus looked momentarily surprised, then laughed out loud. "No, my reasons lined up fairly well with your own, I suspect: I thought the world was enough better off without Voldemort in it that I thought it worth sacrificing my own place. And, well …" He looked down at his hands briefly, flexing them as though they contained a full set of claws, "… as much as the Headmaster likes to paint a rosy picture, there really _aren't_ that many prospects out there for werewolves, even those who have graduated with a full Hogwarts education. Honestly, the greatest draw to sticking around – aside from being there for friends and family – was the knowledge that I might be given the opportunity to teach at Hogwarts someday in the future. But knowing that that too would be taken away from me …"

"… Things are better, now. For werewolves, I mean." Harry offered, a little awkwardly.

Remus grinned wryly. "Another benefit to my death – though one that, unlike Voldemort's destruction, I had not predicted." He shook his head. "In any case – we can argue how much the other deserved not to die until the end of time, I suspect. Shall we just agree to disagree?" He stuck out his hand.

Harry took it, still a bit dazed at the realization that the object of his search was standing right there, chatting with him as though he'd never disappeared, as though Harry had not spent years keeping an eye out for even the faintest trace of his friend, and spent years being disappointed.

Given that they were both currently not even as corporeal as ghosts, it was also a shock to him to find that Remus' hand felt as real to him as though they were two living humans. And warm.

Eventually, he couldn't contain himself. "Where have you _been_ all this time?" He demanded, forcing himself to let go of Remus' hand, even though a large part of him was urging him to keep holding on, to never let go – the same part that worried that if he did let go, or turn his eyes away for a moment, when he turned back Remus would have disappeared again. The same part that still couldn't really believe that Remus was actually _here_.

Remus smiled wryly. "That's a long story –"

Whatever else he had been about to say was cut off by the door to the delivery room opening, and a nurse stepping out with a broad smile on her face to address the impatiently waiting men – living and non-.

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter. You are now the father of a healthy baby boy."

The three remaining Marauders turned into a miniature mob of delirious joy, James saying something excitedly of which an incessant repetition of the word 'John' was all that Harry really caught. He turned back to Remus and was a bit surprised to see a fondly nostalgic look on his face. "… Remus?"

The older boy shook it off. "Just thinking … it would have been nice to have been here in flesh-and-blood person, you know? I envy you, a little bit, having had the opportunity, even if it was comparatively brief and pretty much random, to have continued to interact with other people as a living person, even if it wasn't really your own skin you were wearing. And I wonder…" his gaze turned back to the ecstatic Marauders. "… John was my middle name, you know."

Harry smiled. "I'm sure that's who he's named after, then – a far better role model than me."

Remus laughed. "As long as he doesn't take after his namesake in being mauled by a werewolf at age six, I'll be content." He smiled wryly again. "Though at least if he is, he'll be coming into a world that's kinder to him than it was to me. And for that I'm glad."

Harry couldn't really think of anything to say to that, so he made do with simply nodding his agreement. He hesitated. "About that long story?"

"Oh!" Remus turned his full attention back to Harry. "Where I've been … that's a long story. And I suspect you've got a few long stories of your own to tell, as well. But then, I guess for all we know we've got eternity tell it in, now." He extended his hand again. "Would you care to travel together for a while, as we share those long stories?"

Harry took it, grasped firmly, and looked up into Remus' eyes. "I'd love to."

THE END

25 November 2012


End file.
